


Serendipity

by Courtanie



Category: South Park
Genre: Abuse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Fluff, M/M, Slow Romance, Spiritual, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-05 18:46:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 58,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4190916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Courtanie/pseuds/Courtanie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angels all have to earn their wings. Kenny McCormick is no exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Dust to Dust

Sunlight peeks through my crooked blinds overtop my window, illuminating the dust that’s hovering around my head. I watch them dance together and let out a heavy breath, observing them as they scatter at the intrusion of air. They all fall back down to a slowed pace, circling around in the quiet, glimmering in the light. I’ve always wondered why dust, something considered so dirty and unwanted, could hold such a grace about itself. It’s not like that annoying piece of fuzz that occasionally one will see dancing around, it’s not like the pesky gnat that won’t stop trying to invade your ear canal. It’s something completely different. Almost like pieces of glitter wafting around in the way that they do, reflecting the golden light of the sun back around to their observers.   
  
Dirty and unwanted.   
  
People still know that they’re there, though. If they look close enough, they see that they’re always there. Watching us back, coming and going with our own movements and turning them into their own. We know where they come from, and in the back of our minds, we still always know that they’re continuing to waltz around us.  
  
Why can’t I be like them? Why can’t people know that I’m there, that sometimes I’m gone but they don’t forget where I am?   
  
What makes dirt so much better than me?  
  
I sigh, shifting atop my mattress and cracking my neck lazily. So I’m not perfect. So I’m not some graceful particle that floats in the air and glitters. But I’m something. I’m a lot more noticeable than any piece of dust. At least I would hope so. I stare at my yellow-stained ceiling; marred from the smoking habit I’d picked up when I was fifteen. I remember the first time that I’d really committed myself to picking up a cigarette. Cartman and I had decided that it would be the right thing to do to show that we were just as mature as the seniors of the high school. I can still taste that first inhalation, the way that it overtook my lungs and constricted my throat with its bitter attack. I smirk, remembering how I’d tried to stifle my cough until Cartman started hacking like a lunatic and I followed suit.   
  
He told me that day that that was our step into manhood, that smoking our first real cigarettes together committed us to continue along with each other. The only time we could stop is when the other one did. I agreed, thinking that this was a sign that Cartman really wanted to be closer to me in some way. He put down the pack not a week after. Told me that he just didn’t see it helping me get any recognition with the seniors. After all, he was ‘cool’ enough already in his own terms to be socially accepted. He left me outside on my own that day, a stale cigarette between my lips as I watched after him for well over ten minutes.  
  
That day was so different for myself and yet so familiar: Me left behind by someone else. I get pushed out of the way to make way for better things for themselves and they pay little to no attention on how it may or may not affect me.  
  
They ignore me. They forget me.  
  
That’s been the story of my life for as long as I can remember. My life being nothing but an arid fact that wafts around one’s brains whenever they feel like acknowledging me. I’m at the very backs of their minds, I’m only there when it’s convenient for them. When they need someone to be their lackey or for someone to just sit there and listen to them rant and not interject on their own.  
  
That’s all I am: a fact. A statistic. I’m rarely a name.  
  
When I’m alive, I tend to be with Stan, Kyle, and/or Cartman. Though lately, I’ve just been hiding to myself, unable to bring myself to really look them in the eyes anymore. They guys are too preoccupied with their own lives; too busy to really even do much more than say ‘Hey Kenny’ before tuning me out and rambling to each other.  
  
When we were kids, it’d upset me, but not much else. I’d just stand there, happy when I got a few opportune moments to give my input. Nowadays, I’m more angry than anything. No doubt they continually saw me losing my life, falling out of consciousness time and again as I slipped from this world to the next. Stan and Kyle would shout about it often enough, they had it down to an art. But when I woke up there was no tearful greetings, no cheers of joy, no hugging or clapping or anything of the sort. I got my typical ‘Hey Kenny’ before we focused on Stan’s football game, on Kyle’s fight with his mother, or Cartman’s newest way to trick people for money.  
  
It’d become a game; my life was merely one of the annoying pawns that we beat out of our way to make our way towards what mattered to us. Or at least, what mattered to them.  
  
My life mattered to me, more than they could ever seem to realize. They never had any recollection about what had gone on the very day before. They didn’t remember my head being impaled with a streetlamp, they couldn’t seem to recall the way that my spinal cord was severed when I had that run-in with the crazy knife-wielding lunatic robbing the bank. They could remember the way that Tweek had spilled coffee all over Craig three weeks ago just fine, but when it came to me? No.   
  
No one ever remembered me. Not my family, not my best friends. Only myself. I can remember the pain. I can still see the way that I fell away from the Earth to Kyle’s last shouts to God knows who.   
  
Maybe it’s a gift, but I call it a curse. Living without being able to live, it’s a hard fact that I’m being forced to accept.  
  
I don’t want this anymore. I want to be able to either live fully or die once and for all. Death doesn’t scare me. I know what awaits me. It’s life that pisses me off. It’s life that makes me so full of rage and so against waking up every day from my deep sleep. In death, people know that I’m there, people know the hard truth: that I’m dead. At least for the time being.  
  
In life, no one knows me. Everyone sees me, assuming that I’m just a normal kid like the rest of them. They don’t run up going ‘oh my god, you’re better after you were pushed off the roof of the school?!’ or something like that. They say ‘get out of my way’, pushing their way past me to get along with their own lives. Do I clammer for attention? No. Do I yearn for it? To an extent. I don’t want for them to run a news story about me. I don’t want for them to look at me as though I’m a god because of this stupid ability. However, that’s not to say I wouldn’t enjoy having my friends come up to me and ask if I’m all right. I certainly wouldn’t mind it if my mother made me a cup of tea, if my dad patted me on the back and they both told me they were glad that I’m okay again.  
  
Is it really all that much to ask for?  
  
I cringe as I hear a loud noise escaping from the kitchen. Sounds like someone got hit again. I sigh, slowly forcing myself to sit up. I look hazily over towards my door, hearing another loud bang following suit.   
  
"Stop it, Stuart!" Mom yells.  
  
Jesus Christ these people...  
  
I sigh again, running my hand through my hair tiredly. I shake my head a bit, watching as more dust falls in from around the halo of light gleaming into my room. Sometimes I wish I was that insignificant. Able to disappear and reappear upon my own whim as opposed to this middle ground that I seem to be consumed in.  
  
I've learned wishing is pretty much for naught anymore, though.  
  
I get up to my feet, slowly dragging myself over towards the door. I'm not sure why I go out when the two of them are fighting. Maybe it's just for the opportunity to get them to notice me, maybe it's just my curiosity over the subject matter. Maybe it's just because I want them to shut the fuck up once in a while.  
  
I push open the door and step into the hallway, getting hit with the scent of whiskey and cheap beer and scrunching my nose in distaste. I may not be a perfect little sober child, but goddamn that man whom I call my father can fucking drink anyone out of house and home. Hell he's almost done it to my family. Twice. A short walk down the hallway lands me in the kitchen, finding my mom and dad glaring at each other from opposite ends of the room. I step in slowly and watch as my sister Karen crawls out from under the table, looking scared as all hell.  
  
"Kenny," she looks at me and sniffles. She breaks out from under a chair and runs to my side, clinging at my shirt tightly. With Kevin being gone more than half the time, the kid's become attached to me. I'm the only one who won't scream at her or hurt her.  
  
"What, Ken?" Dad spits at me.  
  
"What the hell was that noise?" I ask.  
  
"It's none of your business," he glares.  
  
"Oh like Hell it isn't!" Mom protests. "Your father was pushin' Karen into the counter an' hurtin' her."  
  
Karen digs her face into my waist and I feel my shoulders drop. She's only fucking thirteen. He can't keep doing this to her.  
  
"Why? What'd she do?" I question.  
  
"It doesn't matter," he snaps. Karen jolts at his tone but I'm unphased. I'm more than used to it.  
  
"Go to your room," I tell her quietly, stroking her hair a bit. I bite my lip as I feel how dirty and unkempt it is. We all probably look like that, this house is always too fucking dark to tell for sure though.  
  
"I didn't say she could," Dad growls.  
  
"I. Did," I challenge, pushing her lightly away. "Go," I nod down at her. She looks between the three of us nervously before turning on her heel and speeding down towards her bedroom. I watch after her before looking to find my father standing a foot in front of me, rage burning in his eyes. "What?" I ask.  
  
"No one asked for you to interfere!" he screams.  
  
"Stuart, calm down," Mom tries, walking over and grasping his arm a bit. "It's not worth i-"  
  
"Damn straight this useless piece of shit ain't worth it!" he shoves me a bit. I stumble before looking back and glaring at him darkly.  
  
"I'm not the forty-something year old with nothing to my name but a pile of empty beer bottles," I retort. "Oh, and a piece of shit house."  
  
"More than you could ever amount to and you damn well know it."  
  
"Well that'd just be because of my upbringing," I sneer. "You know, that whole thing about children taking after their parents and shit like that." He rears back his hand and I automatically tense, bracing myself before his hand comes back into my face full force. I stumble back and hit the wall of the doorway, mindlessly bringing one of my hands up and rubbing over the spot he attacked.  
  
"Boys, don't," Mom pleads.   
  
"Shut up, Carol," he spits.  
  
"You don't fucking talk to her like that," I jump. I don't care what he does to me or Kevin, but I know that's not how the fuck you treat a girl. If there was any one thing that I learned from my mother, it was that.  
  
"I'll talk however the fuck I want to talk!" He argues. "I'm the fucking man of this house, what I say fucking goes!"  
  
"You ain't a man," I snarl, finding the accent I inherited from the both of them sneaking its way into my words. "A man doesn't fuckin' sit around and do nothin' and steal the government's money. A man would actually do somethin' with himself, he'd take care of his family instead of tryin' to fuckin' kill 'em."  
  
He grabs my shirt and rips me forward, my mom letting out a sad yelp for me. The jackass and I stare at each other, his nostrils flaring as he breathes furiously. "I've done more for you than you could ever do fer yerself," he spits in my face.  
  
I grit my teeth, raising my hands and shoving him backwards. He looks surprised. I don't usually fight back, I just yell a lot. "You ain't done _anythin'_ useful for me," I hiss. "Ya don't even fuckin' remember I exist half the time! Both of ya!"  
  
I can see my mother's face dropping from behind Dad. "Kenny, that ain't true..." she says softly.  
  
"LIKE HELL IT AIN'T!" I scream, suddenly an overwhelming amount of anger coursing through my system. My fists shake at my sides and I stare at both of them as evilly as I can probably muster. They both look shocked by my outburst. I guess they forget in all my silence that I do have a voice.  
  
"You don't yell at us like that, Kid!" Dad suddenly jerks back into place. "We don't put up with that kind of crap!"  
  
"Oh fuck off," I growl. "Ya both fuckin' forget about all of us. Ya forget Kevin, ya forget Karen, and most of all, ya forget me! Ya never even notice when I come back after bein' gone! Ya just keep on drinkin' and bitchin' and randomly gettin' angry for no reason! How the hell can ya tell me to not lose it at the both of ya when ya can't even remember yer own goddamn kids?!" I scream.  
  
"Kenny, honey," Mom says, stepping nearer to me. I flinch and move away from her. I don't want her to touch me. I'm liable to completely lose it if she does. "Take a deep breath and sit down."  
  
"No!" I protest, pointing accusingly at Dad. "Why don't ya ever tell him to do that, huh?!" I yell at her. "Ya just let him do whatever he pleases to us and you just sit back and look the other way. Yer just as bad as him!" She looks nearly devastated by this and I feel just a pang of guilt. I've always made an effort to not upset her any more than she already is. She puts up with more of Dad than any of us do.  
  
I look down as my arm is grabbed and Dad pulls me forward. I barely have time to blink before I hear my mother scream and feel a loss of ground underneath me. I look to find myself flying towards our dinner table. I land on top of it, my head thudding loudly against the old wood. I hear several crashes, leaning up with a groan and glancing down, finding several of our cheap plates in pieces on the floor.  I shakily roll off of the table, landing on my feet and rubbing my hand through my hair where my head slammed into the table, looking up and glaring at my dad.  
  
"Still wanna be a little smartass?" He dares.  
  
"Fuck. You," I spit, grabbing my mom's coffee cup from off the table and wailing it at him. It smacks into his face, dropping onto the floor and breaking as he screams in anger.  
  
"Oh God," Mom murmurs, looking between the two of us. "Kenny, please," she bites her lip. "Just stop, both of you."  
  
"Stay OUT of it, Carol!" Dad screams, pushing her back against the wall. She shakily looks between the both of us, sliding down to the floor and grasping at her hair between her fingers. I can make out the faint sight of her mumbling and can't help but roll my eyes. She's praying. If only she knew how sucky her God really was.  
  
"You need to watch yerself, ya little shit," Dad snarls, coming at me again. I grab the platter from beside me and swing it at his head. He catches my wrist and squeezes my bones and I groan, dropping the platter and listening to it shatter on the floor. "You live in my fucking house, you fuckin' live by MY rules, you get that?" He shakes me roughly.  
  
I sneer, ripping back from him and taking my arm back. "Your rules, huh?" I drawl. "What? Don't move or say anything and don't eat because you need the money to drink yourself stupid? Guess what, Pops, you're already past the line of being stupid."  
  
I can see the rage continuing to build in his eyes and I just glare back at him. I can feel Mom staring between the two of us, looking in terror that one of us will kill the other. Not like it'd matter if Dad killed me. He's done it who the fuck knows how many times already.  
  
"As much as we do for you, ya really think that yer in any position to be yellin' like that, Ken?" He growls.  
  
I laugh mockingly. "What do you do for me, Pops? Please. _Enlighten_ me," I snarl. "Don't let us eat, beatin' us like yer a fuckin' boxer or some shit? Forgettin' about us completely? I mean, geez, do you even realize when I'm dead or what?"  
  
"The hell are you talkin' about, Kid?" he blinks at my last remark.  
  
I clench my fists furiously. I knew it. No. One. Remembers.  
  
"Yeah, news flash for you idiots," I scream at the both of them. "I die. A fucking lot. On a daily fucking basis! But do you ever remember? Nooo you're too busy inhaling your beer like it's fucking air or taking pills," I glare at my mom, who shrinks down slightly.  
  
"Kenny...what are you talking about?" Mom asks quietly.  
  
"You two are fucking stupid, ya know that?!" I yell. "GOD! I'm gone for hours, fucking DAYS at a time sometimes, but do you ever notice? No! Of fucking course not! What the fuck do you care about the wellbein' of yer kids after all, you fuckers?!" I pant, completely blinded in my rage. I've never lost it at them like this before...No turning back now.  
  
"You fucking moron," Dad shouts back. "If ya were dead, ya wouldn't be HERE would you?"  
  
"That's the theory, isn't it? And I'm sure that even if that were the case, you wouldn't notice either way because you don't give a flying shit about any of us no matter what!"  
  
"Ken, please," Mom pleads. "What are you talking about? We love you."  
  
"Well you two have a fucking funny way of showing it," I mutter, starting to walk to the doorway. Dad puts his arm in front of me and I glare up at him from under my bangs.  
  
"I didn't say we were finished," he frowns.  
  
"I. Did," I grab his arm and throw it back into him out of my way. "I'm finished with this conversation and I'm fuckin' finished with you. I ain't comin' back this fuckin' time."  
  
"Kenny, what are you doing?" Mom scrambles up off the floor and walks towards me. I shrug off her touch on my shoulder and glare at them both.   
  
"I'm leavin'. I'll find somewhere to stay. I'm done with this fuckin' family. I'll find someone who fucking remembers me without automatically associating me with the term 'shithead'," I sneer at Dad before turning on my heel and walking away.  
  
“Kenny, stop!” Mom cries after me.  
  
“Just let ‘im go,” I hear Dad mutter to her before I grab a hold of the front doorknob and rip it open. I hop down the cinderblock steps and listen to the door swing shut behind me. I take a deep breath, my anger feeling somewhat lifted upon leaving that fucking hellhole.   
  
I turn to my right and start heading back over the railroad tracks beside my house. Well, _their_ house. That place never felt like a home to me.  
  
As I walk over to the other side of the tracks, my shoulders sink lightly as they tend to do. Looking at all these nice homes, seeing all the families talking, eating, just fucking being a family. It sickens me in ways that nothing else can.  
  
Anger, jealousy, just a yearning to be like them...everything falls on top of me at once and I don’t know what to do to help myself out of it.  
  
I glance a bit up the street, glaring slightly as I see Stan’s house in my view. Stan has a bit of an oddball family like I do. Well, all four of us have strange ones. His dad is an alcoholic just like mine, so they see each other a lot. His mom is cool though. Last I heard his sister was far away, which Stan couldn’t be happier about. I guess that he doesn’t need the older sibling for protection like I once needed Kevin and now Karen needs me.  
  
Kyle’s family is just the same as it’s always been: Quiet father, insane mother, and then the two Brof boys themselves. Ike and him are still super close, even if they do have their moments of pure sibling rivalry. I envy that in a way. I never really got that kind of relationship with my brother and sister. We were too busy huddling in corners to argue over what video game console was better.  
  
Then there’s Cartman. Cartman I can relate to on the mere basis that he’s alone most of the time. He has his mom, but she’s always out getting screwed by some random guy, leaving Cartman by himself for the most part. He never seems to mind it though, he’s never minded having the house to himself. I wish I could have that. I’ve gotten used to the loneliness, but that doesn’t mean I _want_ it.  
  
I sigh, dragging my fingers up through my hair. I turn off the sidewalk and slowly cross the street headed towards Starks. Those three are my best friends, I would be completely lost without them...but it makes me angry that I’m so attached to them.  
  
Not once do they mention my being dead, being just missing from their lives. If one of them disappeared, I’d be all over their asses asking questions like ‘where were you?’ and ‘do I need to kill anyone?’   
  
But no. I don’t get that from them. Stan’s too busy with Wendy and sports, Cartman’s too busy not caring and Kyle’s too focused on studying to really notice.   
  
 As much as I fucking hate to admit it, It hurts. It hurts like a bitch.  
  
I remember being a kid, directly telling them about my ‘gift’. And they _still_ forgot. I shot myself in the face and they still couldn’t remember. What is it about me that makes me so insignificant that they can’t even remember me blowing my brains out? How can they just walk away from my body and forget the blood spatter? How is that even conceivable? From Cartman, yeah I could expect that. But Stan and Kyle? No fucking way. Stan’s a peace loving hippie and Kyle’s too sensitive for his own good. They wouldn’t just _forget_ it without there being something that’s making this happen.  
  
But I couldn’t tell anyone what that something was if my life depended on it.  
  
 No pun intended.  
  
“DUDE, LOOK OUT!” I hear someone scream.  
  
I jerk my head around to the side just in time to see a baseball bat flying at my skull. I can’t react quickly enough and it slams into my temple with the tip. I collapse onto the ground, seeing people coming up and looking down at me in terror. What does it matter...they’ll walk away and forget anyway. My body twitches and I’m overcome with numbness, vaguely hearing them saying to get help.  
  
Don’t bother. Nothing will happen anyway. I’ll die, come back, and no one will care.  
  
I close my eyes as it becomes too bothersome to keep them pried open. My body is becoming so accustomed to this. I’m so resilient to the pain anymore. I choke lightly, coughing up what I can only guess is spinal fluid before everything starts growing quieter. Everything around me fades into nothingness as I re-enter such a familiar atmosphere. From here until I live again, I’ll feel nothing but peace, only to be awoken once again into my own personal Hell.  
   
  



	2. Feathers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit dialogue heavy, lots to explain. But no worries, the whole story won't be like this. Pinky promise!

I clench my fingers lightly, expecting to feel the smooth sheets atop of my bed per usual, instead feeling something loose and hard. I furrow my brows, groaning slightly before forcing myself to pry my eyelids open. My blurring vision shows me a mess of grey beneath my hands until I blink a couple of times, finding myself on a pile of gravel.  
  
“What the hell...” I whisper, slowly raising my throbbing head.  
  
 “Why yes, very good,” a voice speaks overtop of me. A voice that I haven’t heard for a few months.  
  
I groan again, pushing myself up with my arms onto my knees and rubbing my aching head. I look up through my narrowed eyes and see a black-clothed figure in front of me.   
  
“Damien?” I question mindlessly.  
  
“‘Sup, McCormick?” he smirks down at me.   
  
I look around a bit as my senses fall back onto me, finding myself at the gates of Hell. “Dude what the...why am I here?” I ask, looking at him questionably.  
  
“Need to talk to you. There a problem with that?” he asks, extending his hand down towards me. I take it and he pulls me back onto my feet. I notice a slightly devious gleam in his eyes and frown. It’s never good when the son of Satan looks like that.  
  
“I’m not sure yet. What is it you need to talk about?”  
  
“Oh you know, the typical things. Beer, sports, weather, killing you for good. Ya know. The norm.”  
  
I blink at his last statement and raise my brow. “Wait...what?”  
  
“Let’s walk,” he starts walking from the gate down the path in front of it. I watch after him for a moment before hurrying to catch up with him, my curiosity rising a mile a minute.  
  
“Did...did you seriously just say I could die for real?” I ask, my deadened heart pounding in astonishment.  
  
“Perhaps,” he nods. “Tell me, McCormick, why do you think that you’re here?”  
  
“Because...you brought me here?” I guess.  
  
“No, you died today with a feeling of hatred in your heart. You were angry when you died, so you came back here. You should catch on by now, I mean, come on,” he smirks at me.   
  
I pout lightly. “So I never noticed the rules. Can you blame me?”  
  
“No, I suppose not,” he shrugs. “I would certainly hate to be in your position, to be honest.”  
  
“Well I’m glad to know that I’m not the only one who thinks this whole thing is a load of bullshit,” I roll my eyes.  
  
“Ken, let me ask you a question,” he starts, both of us pausing as a couple of demons cross in our path. “What is it you hate about your constant deaths? Is it the fact that you’re different?”  
  
“No, it’s the fact that I come back to a world that never notices I’m gone,” I mutter, kicking at some loose coal along the walkway. “I may as well have just gone to the bathroom with the way that people remember my existence. I don’t even know how they remember me when I’m alive.”  
  
“It very easily could be such a part of their routine that they block out the details,” he says. “It’s not necessarily that they’re trying to forget you. And I don’t think that the problem so much lies within them as it does with you.”  
  
“Damien, what the fuck are you talking about?” I sigh impatiently. “What’s with this all of a sudden? Usually we just throw back a few beers and talk about people we hate. Why are you bringing this out of nowhere?”  
  
He’s silent for a few moments before sighing. “I was talking to my father about this the last time that you came down here. We’ve figured out that there’s a hell of a problem regarding your soul.”  
  
“Oh no, really? Ya think?” I drawl sarcastically. He shoots me a look with those blood red eyes and I press my lips together firmly.  
  
He turns back and continues, “You’re at a complete unrest,” he explains. “Your soul honestly can’t tell whether you’re dead or alive. You don’t know if this is real or if everything is merely a dream, or more in your case, a nightmare.”  
  
“Ain’t that the truth,” I roll my eyes.  
  
“You have two options, McCormick,” he states. “My father and I discussed that you can either live out your days as you are now; dying day in and day out, until you finally figure out how to make your soul easy and die naturally.” I scowl slightly at that. “Or,” he proceeds, noticing my tenseness, “You can take the opportunity to earn your wings.”  
  
I raise my brow. “Earn my wings? What? Bat wings to fly around this dump?”   
  
He shakes his head. “No, angel wings.”  
  
“Thought Mormons were the only ones who got into Heaven.”  
  
“Mm, there are special exceptions,” he smirks. “And should you accept this...we’ll call it a quest, then you would earn your spot in God’s domain,” he shudders lightly at the mention of His name.  
  
“Dude,” I start lowly. “I. Want. To. Die. You have no idea how much fucking torture this whole fucking thing is.”  
  
“McCormick before you jump to conclusions, you need to consider one factor,” he warns. “If you do this, then you are going to die young. Very very young. If you keep on like you are now, your soul could wait to find its peace once you figured things out on your own. If you do this, you may never truly know happiness.”  
  
“Trust me, getting the fuck off of Earth away from people who don’t give two shits about me is close enough to an ideal of happiness in my book,” I frown.  
  
He looks skeptical but lets out a sigh. “All right, well, hear out what must be done first before you set your mind on anything.”  
  
Too late for that.  
  
“Keep in mind please that this task isn’t going to take only a few hours or days,” he says. “It’s going to take over a year. One year and forty-seven days to be precise.”  
  
I cock my head. “Why so exact?”  
  
He smiles a bit, “How many feathers do you think are on an angel’s wings, McCormick?”  
  
I recoil a bit from the suddeness of his question. “Uhhh 2,564?” I shrug, really having no clue.  
  
“Not nearly,” he smirks. “824 feathers total. That’s 412 feathers on each wing.”  
  
I raise my brow. “Okay...”  
  
“A lot can be accomplished in 412 days, McCormick,” he walks away again. I follow him at his slow pace and try to wrap my brain around his statement. “People are born, people die, people get engaged and then married, people can be diagnosed with an illness and have it cured. It’s a lot of time where a lot of things can happen.”  
  
“But what does that have to do with angels?” I blink.  
  
“What is it that makes an angel, do you think, McCormick?”  
  
“Good...deeds and worshipping God?” I shrug.  
  
“Mmm close,” he nods. “Actually the worshipping thing? It’s a minor part. Really, you can just say you’re a Christian and never attend a single sermon and you could still get into Heaven if you played all your cards right.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Oh yes,” he nods. “Man has changed the image of... _God_ into some egotistical bastard, have they not? Really, He just wants people to be well behaved. Goody little two shoes pricks,” he rolls his eyes. I can’t help but smirk at him. Must be killing him to have to speak somewhat kindly of the enemy of his Father.  
  
“But what does that have to do with anything?” I ask again.  
  
“People are born good,” he states. “Every one of them. Hitler was, Stalin was, President Bush was. Even though I’m more than convinced that man was hatched on another planet,” he rolls his eyes. I snigger lightly before we both look at each other in seriousness again. “When people turn old enough to form their own coherent thoughts, to figure things out for themselves and make their own stands on things, they’re given a time limit.”  
  
“Time limit?”  
  
“Well, not so much a limit because it’ll last throughout their entire lifetime. However, everyone’s lifespan is different. So it very well could be considered a limit.”  
  
“What the fuck are you talking about?!” I insist, my head hurting slightly from all this random spewing of angels and babies and Hitler.  
  
“412 days of your life, McCormick. 412 days to prove to God and to the world that you are worthy enough to enter Heaven’s gates. Most people can very easily accomplish this. A little over a year of just spastic good deeds here and there. Just making people smile, making them happy, or just overall making some kind of contribution that doesn’t negatively affect society.”  
  
“So...you earn your wings that way?” I blink.  
  
“Very good,” he nods. “But let me tell you something that no one really knows. Those feathers on an angels wings? Those are not merely feathers, McCormick. Those are pieces of your very soul.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
“They are reminders of who you are, symbols of what you stood for when you lived your time out on Earth. Every laugh that you gave to someone, every smile that you were able to procure out of another person. They’re all right there, they’re what make up the feathers of your wings.”  
  
“Wow,” I murmur, looking at the ground a bit. “Little...philosophical isn’t it?”  
  
“Spiritual, actually, but yes,” he chuckles. “A bit like a cheesy movie thrown together by the church groups, hm?”  
  
“But...why don’t you earn them all then?” I ask. “Why don’t you earn all 824 of them instead of only half of them?”  
  
“Each feather is a reflection of the other,” he states. “Because in the end, it’s both sides of the whole that make you fly. If one was to only earn say, 427 feathers if it was done in that sense, there would be no balance. Each feather is earned in a pair so that no one is greater than the other on the other side.”  
  
“...Oh,” I blink again. “What if...what if a kid dies? Ya know...before their wings are earned?”  
  
He grimaces and points back towards the gates. “They aren’t sent to Hell, they’re reincarnated,” he elaborates. “Usually the time to start earning your wings starts at about age five or six. If that kid only lives another few months after their time is decided, they’re sent to be sent back up to try again.”  
  
“Better than what I thought I guess,” I wince. “But then why are there so many people in Hell? Did none of these people earn their wings?”  
  
 “Angels aren’t there merely through good deeds,” he explains. “It’s consistent good behavior, caring, trust, etc. While one wrong move such as say....hurting someone’s feelings can offset you, it won’t take away your feathers or make you start again or anything of the sort. But if you die, and that person’s feelings are still hurt from your action, then the weight of what you did will bear down on your wings and make you unable to fly.”  
  
“Lame,” I mutter reflexively.  
  
“Indeed,” he nods.  
  
“But...then what about me?” I look at him. “I’ve been around for more than just a year...why haven’t I had my chance yet?”  
  
“Because your lifespan is merely a day at a time,” he states. “Though you get progressively older, your internal clock sets back to midnight, so to speak, each time that you die and come back. But my father and I discussed it, even going so far as to ask that bastard up there,” he jerks his head towards the sky, “if it would be acceptable for you to become the exception to the rule.”  
  
“Why do you want me to die?” I ask warily.  
  
“You’re fucking with the system, that’s why,” he glares slightly. “People here in Hell see you come and leave again and they want to know how you manage it, they constantly ask for the secrets to your immortality. We can’t have people thinking that anyone other than the gods themselves are the immortals. Otherwise things will be thrown into chaos.”  
  
“Well sorry,” I sneer. “Not like I chose this, ya know.”  
  
“Well now you can choose to fix things,” he states, a little softer. “We would give you the 412 days. But only those days, to earn your wings. Should you complete your task, you will die of natural causes and your soul will ascend to Heaven for the rest of eternity. Should you fail, you will remain as you are now, dying day in and day out until you finally find the way for yourself to make yourself at peace.”  
  
“I’m guessing there’s no redos if I fuck up, hm?”  
  
“No,” he shakes his head. “One chance, that’s all we’ll give you. The same as any other person on Earth.”  
  
I bite my lip slightly, thinking through what he’s told me a bit. “414 days of just being nice?” I ask.  
  
“Pretty much,” he shrugs. “But McCormick, we’ve been watching you. You harbor a lot of anger and hatred towards those closest to you. They can turn into your downfall of your task if you don’t find a way to treat them better.”  
  
“I can put on a hell of a front should I want to,” I shrug. I let out a deep sigh before smirking at him. “I’m in.”  
  
“Are you absolutely positive?” He asks, looking at me seriously. “McCormick, as I said, you may never find out what makes you happy. You could die and truthfully be nothing but a shell of an angel with immense amounts of regret that you didn’t live your life through.”  
  
“My life has been nothing but abuse and anger and frustration,” I narrow my eyes at him.  
  
“What of your friends?” he asks darkly. “What of Stan, Kyle, and Cartman? Do you really think that they hate you?”  
  
“They don’t remember me unless it’s convenient,” I roll my eyes.  
  
 “Now that’s not entirely true,” he raises his brow. “They remember you, they think about you a lot. However, the only thing that they forget is _why_ you’re gone. And as I said, it could just be a matter that it’s so built into their subconscious that they don’t even question it. It’s like breathing for them, McCormick. If they stop to think about why you’re gone, all they can do is stand there in confusion. If they just step back and let things happen on their own, things flow naturally and they don’t need to worry about it.”  
  
I pause for a moment, letting this sink in before narrowing my eyes a bit. “I. Want. To. Die,” I say firmly. “If they have problems with it then they can tell me themselves.”  
  
We stop and stare at each other and he looks like he’s about to retort before he just sighs and shakes his head. “You’re arrogant, McCormick. This is going to be a lot harder for you than you seem to think.”  He reaches his hand out and places it over my chest. I yelp as a sharp sting slices over my skin. He retracts his hand and I immediately pull my sweatshirt back from my skin, finding a long black line over my chest.  
  
“Damien, the hell!”  
  
“That’s your marker,” he states evenly. “For every two feathers you earn, a barb will be added to the mark. Once the feather is complete, you’ll begin your ascension.” I look up at him, dropping the fabric back onto my body and nodding slowly.  
  
“What is it exactly that I need to do?” I ask, a bit wary of even starting this task in a way.  “Make people happy, make them realize that you’re more than just the kid who disappears. Occasionally I’ll find something for you to do and that’ll be your task for the day, but for the most part, it’s all gonna be on you. Just be a good person, McCormick. Things will start seeming a lot easier as time wears on.”  
  
“Make em happy, then get the fuck away from em, got it,” I nod excitedly.  
  
He smirks. “Don’t look so sure of yourself, Ken. This is going to be much harder than you think.”   
“What, ya think I don’t know how to be nice or somethin’?” I cross my arms and pout a bit.  
  
“No, I’m just saying that you’re going to be a completely different seeming person when you start on this. People are going to look at you differently and you’ll do the same to them. A little kindness will reveal things to you that you never would have conceived before. Just keep that in mind. You may end up changing your mind on this deal just yet.”  
  
“I highly doubt that,” I scoff. “I’m ready to get away from those assholes,” I mutter.  
  
“Remember,” he chuckles. “Play nice and you probably shouldn’t call them names if you want to succeed at this.” He places his hand over my eyes and I gulp lightly at the low tone of his voice. “I’m sending you back to Earth now. You have your task. I’ll be checking in on you now and then. Good luck, McCormick. Just keep in mind that this is the only chance you’ll be getting.”  
  
I don’t have the chance to so much as respond before my vision is overtaken with a blinding light, my body shaking slightly as I begin that familiar descent from wherever my soul is, crashing back down to Earth in the form of my newly-renewed body. I can feel myself slamming down onto my bed, my legs flailing lightly before my exhaustion overcomes me completely, the warmth beginning to pick back up in my limbs and along my face before I fade back off into darkness.


	3. Day 1 - August 28th

I slowly feel the fogginess of my dreamless sleep wearing off, my eyes starting to creak open on their own accord. A part of me doesn’t want to wake up, so much is the story of my life. I wake up every day into essentially nothingness, it’s mundane and too much of a stress in my opinion.  
  
My bed is so much safer than anywhere else that I could be.  
  
Unwillingly, my eyes open to the sunlight peeking in through my crooked blinds and I groan. I turn over, glancing at my alarm clock set on the floor and squinting until a visible 2:30 comes into my view.  
  
Well fuck, I slept through school.  
  
I sigh, sitting up and cracking my neck. I run a hand up through my hair and let my thoughts roam on that for awhile. School gets out at three...I really don’t have a reason to show up right now for ten minutes just to get bitched out by my English teacher. Oh well, what the hell good is education going to do me anyway? I’ll only die during job interviews and never hold down a steady career what with my lousy attendance and all...  
  
My eyes shoot wide open. Distinct memories of Damien and feathers come back into my mind, strewn across my thoughts like a rapid wildfire. Was it a dream? Oh dear God, don’t let it have been just a dream....  
  
I pull back the front of my shirt over my skin, looking down into the dark space. My face slowly spreads into a wide grin as I can distinctly make out the long black line that’s crossed over my chest.  
  
It was real.  
  
For the first time in a damn long time I can feel my heart fluttering excitedly. Should anyone really be this excited about the prospect of dying? Maybe not. Damn, though, I can barely keep myself from jumping off this old filthy mattress and tap-dancing across the floor.  
  
I let go of my shirt and push myself up, filled with reinvigorated energy that I didn’t even know that I could harbor anymore. I’m thrilled about the whole concept. Easy tasks, make people smile, get peace for eternity. It can’t be that hard, right?  
  
I slowly peel off my clothes, taking clean(er) ones from my closet and pulling them on while my mind races. I wonder what Heaven will be like. All the food I could ever want, clean water, clean, fresh air. No one just standing there yelling at me for how useless I am and how much better the world is without me being there. Not to mention all the fine asses that one could ever want to tap. I linger on that before I fall into a pout as I realize something: It’s Heaven. Last time I checked, I’m not married. I guess my days of premarital sex are over. Well shit, there is a downside to all of this. Though considering the fact that it was never mentioned in Damien’s little contract, perhaps I can get away with old habits still so long as I keep the pace on what I’m supposed to be doing.  
  
I pull my sweatshirt down over my head and sigh, tousling my hair with my fingers as I walk towards my doorway. Possible no hanky-panky aside...I’m still pumped about this whole thing. I can deal with not getting any if it means that I can get out of this house, out of this town, away from this whole goddamn uncaring planet.  
  
I’ve only got a year in which I have to work for it. If I’m lucky, the time will just fly right by.  
  
I walk out of my room and head down the dark hallway towards the kitchen. I may as well hit town and find something to do. I’d rather not be stuck here after the whole ordeal yesterday. I grit my teeth silently as my father’s anger passes through my mind. I don’t know what his deal is anymore. I don’t know what the hell our family is anymore but a bunch of loudmouthed redneck abusive people with addiction problems.  
  
Go McCormicks.  
  
I head in through the kitchen, looking around to see the place in the same condition as I’d left it last night. Mom’s dishes are still all over the place, shattered on the floor in separate piles. A chair is still overturned and the place just looks like a puddle of filth.  
  
Guess that’s not too uncommon for this place though.  
  
I’m willing to bet that after I left, Dad beat Mom then went out to drink. Then she snorted some pills and went to bed to pass the fuck out. I roll my eyes, about to head straight through the kitchen before I stop. I turn and look back at the mess with a pang of guilt hitting my chest. I guess that I could always start here. I don’t think that I could just walk up to anyone and be all nice and sociable about it...may as well get this thing going through inanimate objects.  
  
I flip on the dull light over the table, walking towards the mess and grabbing a few large shards of the broken platter. I pick up two plates and a coffee mug that I’d brought crashing to the ground and set them in separate piles on the table. My eyes scan the kitchen, landing on the third drawer from our refrigerator. I walk over and yank it open, shuffling through a mess of ‘final statement’ bills piled within the small space, shaking my head mindlessly as I wade through them. No wonder we have people from the bank here all the goddamn time. I finally find the super glue in the back of the drawer and the second my fingers touch it, my ears are brimming with the one thing my dad ever told me as a father: ‘If ya can’t fix it with glue or tape, don’t buy it.’  
  
He never did explain to me what to do with my clothes when they ripped, though.  
  
I snort out a half-laugh before turning and heading back towards the table, sitting on my chair and carefully grabbing some of the porcelain of the platter. Lucky for me the thing only broke into about five pieces. I line them up as they’re supposed to be with space between the fragments before grabbing the largest piece and carefully lining the edge with the glue. I cover the rough edge before grabbing its conjoining piece and carefully lining up and pushing them together. I hold it in place a few moments, blowing on it occasionally so I can get the damn thing done. I’m a bit impatient of a person when it comes down to it.  
  
It dries enough to move on to the next piece and I do so, watching the pieces fit back together like a hand in a glove. I frown lightly as I continue working on it, my mind fleeting back and forth between the plate and everything in general.  
  
Why can’t everything be this simple to fix?  
  
I finish the platter, setting it gently on the table and staring at it for a few moments. It’s not artwork by a long shot, but it’ll hold frozen waffles for us like it’s supposed to. I sigh, grabbing pieces of my mom’s coffee mug and beginning to stitch it back together in the same fashion. Everything about this day is beyond me. Would fixing this mismatched Goodwill tableware actually do something for me? Or am I just wasting my time here?  
  
I can’t help but sigh again. I guess what matters is what other people think of it, not myself. I know it’s going to be difficult to really begin to even _pretend_ to give a fuck about the people surrounding me. Damien was right for once, I have so little patience for the people who come in and out of my life. All I want is them to notice me, but then I want them to back off of me in the same moment. It’s staggering and nothing short of frustrating, but it’s all I can seem to want out of them anymore. I’ve grown to learn not to expect anything special from any of them.  
  
A noise at the archway between the kitchen and living room startles me, and I look up to see Mom standing there in her robe, blinking at me slowly. “Kenny? What’re you doin’, Hon?”  
  
I can feel my face heating up as I look back, fumbling with the handle of her mug and sealing it into place. I put the finished cup down on the table and shrug, sticking my hands in my pockets. “None of yer business,” I reply smartly before pushing past her, ignoring her stare currently boring into my back. I hurry towards the front door and throw it open, slamming it behind me and taking a deep breath.  
  
I don’t like the way she looked at me. She looked confused and worried. I get that from her so little anymore, it’s hard not to get angry that it’s not directed at me in the means that I want it to be. I bite my lip, stepping off of our death-trap rickety porch and heading down towards town. I feel the sun shining on my face, hear birds chirping happily around me...and I can’t feel a goddamn bit of gratitude for it.  
  
I wince as a sharp pain hits my chest and I stop on the sidewalk. I pull the fabric away from my skin and look down, seeing a long barb sticking from the main root. I drop my sweatshirt back down and stand still, blinking slowly. Apparently I did make my mom’s life a little easier. Funny, I wasn’t expecting it to work so well and so quickly. I rub my fingers over the area on my chest and take a heavy breath. Hopefully it all comes easier from this point on. Lord knows that I can’t afford to fuck this up, it’s my one goddamn shot and I’ll be damned (literally) if that chance is stolen from me. I close my eyes, listening to the sound of the birds flittering around in the trees above me and can’t help but feel the anger creeping up on me again.  
  
 Lucky fucking birds. They get to fly. They already have their wings when they’re born. They don’t have to worry about being polite or kind to others. No. They just have to fly around and eat and sleep and not get shot. Must be a hell of a privilege to be like them. No bird’s ever had to make a deal with the Devil just so they can fly. I watch a blue jay couple swimming around each other in mid-flight, their wings brushing against each other every so often.  
  
Must be _real_ nice.  
  
“Kenny!” a voice pierces the air and breaks my attention from the blue jays. I turn and see Kyle, Stan, and Cartman heading down the sidewalk towards me. Kyle waves and I give him a small one back, sighing and sticking my hands back into my pockets. At least I already did my good deed for the day, I don’t have to worry about what’s going on with these three in the least.  
  
“Dude,” Kyle asks as they step up around me. “Where the hell were you today?”  
  
I shrug, scratching my hair listlessly, “Didn’t feel like goin’. Crap at home, you know how it is.”  
  
He bites his lip and looks at me carefully, “Did something happen?”  
  
“Nothin’ outta the ordinary,” I force myself to smirk at him. “What’s goin’ on?” I look at the three of them.  
  
“We’re heading to Cartman’s house,” Stan gestures his thumb back to our fat friend.  
  
“Dude,” Cartman starts, “They did a three hour long Terrance and Philip anniversary special. Figure I’d record it and we’d watch it for the hell of it,” he shrugs. “Somethin’ to drink to, ya know.”  
  
I snort a bit and nod, “Sounds good to me.” I look down noticing Kyle’s still staring at me. “What?”  
  
He blinks and shakes his head, looking down sheepishly, “Nothin’, sorry. Just spaced is all.” He smiles up at me softly, “So you actually wanna hang?”  
  
I shrug, “Better than goin’ back to my place. Dunno where Dad is but Ma is bein’ her usual pill-poppin’ self.”  
  
Stan and Kyle look at me sympathetically and Cartman rolls his eyes, “Well if you’d use the welfare checks for something important for-OW! FUCKING JEW!” he yelps, rubbing his head. I look down and see Kyle with his hand still in the air from slapping him before shaking his palm around.  
  
 “Don’t be a dick, Cartman,” he lectures. “Remember that you’re on fucking welfare, too from your mom’s own little habit.” He wipes his nose and sniffles pointedly.  
  
 I can’t help but smile at that as Cartman’s face turns beet red. He growls and slaps Kyle’s head back, turning and walking back towards his house. “Fuck you, Kahl.”  
  
“You wish,” he scoffs. He turns to Stan and I and jerks his head towards the receding glutton. “Comin’?”  
  
We both nod and head together aligned on the sidewalk behind Cartman who’s still muttering something Hitler-esque, though none of us can be bothered to pay attention to what he’s saying. We’ve heard it all before.  
  
“You sure that you’re feeling all right?” Kyle asks me.  
  
I nod. “Yeah. It’s all good, Man.” I can feel the annoyance percolating in my gut. No, it’s _not_ all good, Kyle. You can fucking notice when I’m not there to pass notes in History class but you don’t remember when I get hit by a fucking train in front of your face? Yeah, that makes me feel fucking fantastic. It’s always good to know that I’m worth an escape from your boredom but not important enough to leave any kind of imprint were I actually to vanish.  
  
Maybe this time, when I die, they’ll fucking remember. Maybe they’ll actually miss me and feel sorry for not spending more time with me. My lips twist up a bit at this. Maybe this time I’ll get a full-fledged memorial. The three of them will cry for hours. I’ll watch them, maybe even miss them back a little, but only to the point where I’m glad they remember who I am. Not to the edge where I’ll regret what I’ve done. I’m already far past that line regardless.  
  
“So,” Stan breaks through my self-indulgence. “You guys comin’ to root me on at the Homecoming game?”  
  
Kyle rolls his eyes and scoffs, “When the fuck do I _not_ go to your goddamn games, Stan? Gimme some credit here.”  
  
Stan chuckles and punches his arm softly. “Okay, so the question wasn’t for you.” He looks up at me and smiles sheepishly. “Ken? You wanna come?”  
  
I blink a bit and look at the ground. I’ve never went to his games before, I either never cared enough to or I was dead at the time. Hell, Kyle only went to support Stan, he didn’t want to be there anymore than I ever did. But I guess now is the time where I need to actually start caring about the things in their lives, regardless of how much of a waste of my time I feel that it is.  
  
“Sure,” I shrug. “When is it?”  
  
“Ten days from now, next Friday,” he smiles. “You’re lookin’ at the starting quarterback,” he boasts, pointing to himself and beaming.  
  
“You’re _always_ the starter you idiot,” Kyle hits his arm. “Ever heard of a little thing called modesty?”  
  
Stan shrugs and loops his arm down around Kyle’s shoulder. “Ah, my little nerdy friend, you don’t understand how the world of High School works. You see, there’s this group called,” he looks around, “the jocks,” he says lowly. “And we’re supposed to be douchebags and boast until our eyes bleed.”  
  
“Well call the optometrist because I’m literally drowning in the doucheness,” he replies dryly.  
  
I shake my head at them a bit. These two may piss me off by not noticing me, but they’re always great to hang around. Even when I’m having a shitty day, watching the two of them interact has always been one of my favorite pastimes. Next to watching Kyle and Cartman get into it, though. Those are always the most fun to place bets with myself on.  
  
Stan chuckles and lets go of him. “You see, my dear Kyle, you are in the nerd squad. You will never understand the ways of my people. You’re supposed to be quiet and meek.”  
  
“Well then obviously I’ve been put in the wrong category,” he raises his brow. “When the flying fuck have I ever been ‘meek’?”  
  
“There’s an exception to every rule,” I chuckle.  
  
Stan nods, “Exactly. But you sit there with your little books and your 4.0 and judge the rest of us for not being so modest when you yourself are sitting there and going ‘wow I’m so much smarter than them’.”  
  
Kyle’s face falls into a pout, “I do not think I’m better than people just because of a few test scores, Stan.”  
  
I nudge him with my arm, “Sure ya do. You don’t say it, you may not even think it. But in the back of your mind you’re judging the hell out of us stupid people.”  
  
He looks at me and swats my arm. “And just what clique do you fall into, oh Master Sage?”  
  
I look up thoughtfully and shrug, “Eh, a lot of ‘em. The druggies, the whores, the bums. You know, the ones that smell and no one really wants to chill with very often unless it’s convenient.”  
  
He shakes his head, “Nah, I don’t think any of that’s true. I think you just fit in with the Loners.”  
  
“Oh really?” I quirk my brow.  
  
He and Stan nod. “Yeah,” Kyle continues, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, we enjoy hanging out with you, Ken. But you always like to find yourself a corner and hide yourself. Hell, half the time we have no idea where you are.”  
  
I bite my tongue lightly and look at the ground as we continue down the sidewalk and up to Cartman’s house. I look up and see him fumbling with the lock as Stan and Kyle wait for a reply from me. I have no idea what to say to them. They’re right. For once in a long goddamn time they’re actually right.  
  
I finally look back at them and force myself to smile at them sheepishly, remembering the mark on my chest. These guys are my friends, regardless of how they make me feel. I have a feeling that most of my good deeds are going to come from the three of them in the long run, so I may as well suck it up and make peace with it. I throw my arm around Kyle’s shoulder and shake him a bit, “Well, I may be a loner, but, like I said, there’s an exception to every rule.”


	4. Day 11 - September 8th

I’m really regretting agreeing to go along to Stan’s game. The smells of cheap concessions, the incessant droning of people cheering and yammering on and on about who’s doing who is not my ideal Friday night. But I suppose it doesn’t particularly matter. I agreed and the last thing I want to do is start backsliding already so soon into my little ‘mission’. I let out a deep sigh, huddling deeper into my sweatshirt and looking out the corner of my eye, watching Kyle walking beside me. He has his hands shoved in his pockets, his face clearly screaming that he doesn’t want to be here anymore than I do. I know Kyle well enough to know that he doesn’t get a sliver of enjoyment out of watching Stan running around a field, but being a best friend has its responsibilities, at least that’s what he told me.  
  
He glances up at me and his lips curl up a bit, that dissatisfaction seeming to melt off of his face. “Where do you wanna sit, Dude?” he asks.  
  
I shrug as we step onto the bleachers, blearily scanning around for an empty spot. I point upwards and look back at him. “Up top?” He nods in agreement and we make our way up the metal stairs, him hot on my trail. I duck and weave around people flinging their arms around in enthusiasm, unable to help rolling my eyes. These people are ridiculously happy to be sitting in the cold watching a bunch of teenagers playing fucking fetch. I sigh, watching my breath coming out in the frigid air and swirling around in front of me as I mosey towards the top of the stands. This past week has probably been the hardest of my life. Trying to pay a compliment to people has proven to be much more difficult than I imagined. Telling Stan that he and Wendy looked great together, lying to Cartman and saying his joke was funny, telling Kyle I was ‘proud’ of him for winning another goddamn academic award. A part of me feels engrossed in guilt for this. These three are my best friends and I feel like giving them the least I could is taking all my energy. But it’s working nonetheless. I have ten little barbs on my chest to prove it.  
  
Kyle and I finally make it to the top of the stands and sit down together, jumping at the coldness underneath us. We end up sitting with our thighs pressed against one another, and a part of me wants to move away, but Kyle’s so goddamn warm I’m inclined to stay put. I look at him and raise my brow at a light blush dusting his cheeks as he looks out onto the field. “You that cold, Ky?” I ask.  
  
He snaps his head towards me and blinks rapidly. “Uh, yeah,” he nods. He shrugs and leans back onto the railing behind us, trying way too hard to act nonchalant. I know him better than he seems to think I do. “Hopefully they’ll win,” he says dismissively. “I don’t want to deal with Stan’s whining again,” he chuckles a bit, smiling at me softly.  
  
“Well you know this is his life,” I wave down towards the field aimlessly.  
  
 “This and Wendy,” he comments quietly, his eyes drooping a tad before he shakes himself back into his regular demeanor. A part of me bristles at that. He notices when _Stan_ is missing from his life, but not me. How fucking kind of him. For a smart kid, he’s a dense asshole sometimes. He notices me tensing and cocks his head, “Ken? You okay?”  
  
“Fine,” I mutter, putting my chin into my palm and looking away from him, ripping my thigh off of his. I see him sitting up and staring at me from my peripheral, but refuse to acknowledge him. He rustles around in his bag hanging from his shoulder and I let my eyes scan around listlessly, watching people moving together in some odd discorded harmony. Murmurs are picking up rhythm, peoples’ gestures seem to be dancing along in front of me in the most bizarre of songs. A part of me is enticed, the rest is disgusted. What do _these_ people do that earns them wings? Or are they all doomed with Satan’s signature already inscribed on them? Either way, why are they all so much luckier than I’ll ever be?  
  
I jolt as something comes up towards my face and look down, seeing a sandwich in Kyle’s hand held under my nose. He clears his throat, “It uh...it’s ham, bacon, and mayo,” he shrugs. “I know it’s your favorite.”  
  
I blink, taking the sandwich from his hand and looking at him curiously. “You brought me food?”  
  
He nods, taking his own turkey sandwich out of the bag and smiling at me crookedly. “I figured you’d be hungry. You didn’t eat anything at lunch today.”  
  
I shrug, picking at the saran wrap around my treat. “Well, that’s what happens when you’re poor, Dude. Ya kinda just deal with it.” I pause, cocking my head. “Wait, where did you get ham and bacon? I figure your mom would’ve kicked your Kosher ass.”  
  
He snorts lightly, taking a bite of his turkey. “Bought it after school, made your sandwich and six more,” he shows me a small collection stashed in his bag. “Then I went to the neighbors trash and threw out the evidence and sprayed air freshener like a madman.”  
  
I can’t help but burst into laughter, unable to get a picture of Kyle running around frantically with Lysol out of my head. I die down a little and can’t help but smile at him. He pisses me off sometimes, but Kyle’s _always_ at least tried to be good to me. “Why’d you make me so much food?”  
  
“Because you’re poor and you kinda just have to deal with it,” he echoes with a raised brow. I roll my eyes and shake my head, unwrapping my sandwich and taking a long, wonderful bite. My eyes practically roll to the back of my head, an explosion of flavor that I haven’t had for so long singing a beautiful aria. Being poor and getting a good meal puts orgasms to shame, I can verify that much. I look over, seeing him still staring at me with that smile. He clears his throat awkwardly, “I uh...tried to make it an even number in case you wanted to share with Kevin and Karen,” he says quietly. “But hey, if you wanna stuff your face with ‘em, that works, too,” he shrugs.  
  
I smile a bit and nod, “They’d love that, Dude. Thanks.”  
  
“No problem,” he waves off the notion. “Consider it a thank you.”  
  
I raise my brow. I didn’t do a damn thing for him today. “For...for what?”  
  
“For coming tonight,” he explains, that blush still riding his slender cheekbones like it’s permanently airbrushed on. “Stan is _really_ glad you could come. He loves any kind of support he can get,” he laughs a bit. His face drops a bit as our eyes lock. “He wouldn’t stop asking me if I thought you really would or not,” he winces.  
  
I let out a long breath and look away from him, staring down at my sandwich clutched preciously in my hands. I didn’t think the game was _that_ important for me to be here to see. I know Stan well enough to know his world is football, and as Kyle reminded me, Wendy, but I didn’t think my being here really meant a damn thing. I figured he just invited me as a formality with Kyle standing right there. “And what did you say?” I ask quietly.  
  
I can feel him staring at me and hear him sighing. “I didn’t know what to tell him, Kenny,” he answers honestly. “I just told him I hoped you would...We miss you, Dude.”  
  
I narrow my eyes a bit in confusion, looking back up at him to see him looking down at the field. “Whaddya mean? I hang out with you guys,” I say.  
  
“Not really,” he mutters, refusing to look my way. “This is the first time we’ve seen you outside of school or one of our houses in months...” he trails off, grating his lip nervously.  
  
I shift a bit, taking another bite of my food, the taste not nearly as delicious this time around. A part of me wants to cry like a goddamn baby, just let out every ounce of anger and depression onto Kyle’s shoulder. Another part of me wants to scream at him in a blind fury, tell him if maybe he’d fucking remember what happened to me now and again, I’d consider spending more of my time with him. But I know well enough that won’t get me anywhere but an angry and confused Kyle and a lost chance at my end goal. “Sorry,” I manage to mutter. “I’ve been busy.”  
  
He finally looks back over at me, “With what?”  
  
“A lot of shit at home, that’s all,” I shrug. Always the easy go-to for an excuse, my house. Kyle, Stan, and Cartman are more than aware of the bullshittery that is my family: the abuse, the drugs, the hate, the filth...They just consider it to be a part of me at this point. It’s definitely not something that one wants to be constantly associated with, but it’s just who I am.  
  
“Ken,” he says, poking my arm to get my attention back. I look up and my stomach drops, his face swimming with so much guilt he’s practically drowning himself in it. I hate that. I hate pity, at least for that circumstance. I have much bigger problems than my dad hitting me, but that seems to be their biggest concern all the damn time. “Kenny,” he starts again, “If you need to...ya know...stay somewhere else, my door’s open, Dude.” I blink, feeing my body trying to fold into itself. This has always been embarrassing, taking handouts, hiding at other people’s places to avoid getting beaten...but once again, it’s just who I am. Stan and Kyle have always extended their hands for me, but so rarely have I grasped them back. The few times I have, I’ve been filled with such irrevocable shame that it made me want to hide away in the woods for fear of them giving me _that_ look. The one that always says ‘man, I can’t believe how hard it must be to be Kenny. I have all this stuff and he has nothing’.  
  
I see him still looking at me worriedly, his eyes scanning over my face in that analytical way that can only come from Kyle. “I’m fine,” I lie.  
  
He reads right through it, typical of himself, and frowns. “Kenny, there’s absolutely _nothing_ wrong with accepting help.”  
  
I scoff and shake my head. It’s adorably naive in a way, how everyone thinks that there’s some magical cure to the kind of life I live. Like a call to the police, a helpful neighbor, or ‘sitting down and talking it out’ will lead to some Lifetime movie where me and my family make amends, grab onto each other, and cry out the shame and anger as it fades to the credits. No. No people in pristine homes who live with proud relatives have no _idea_ of how it gets on the opposite side of the spectrum. Their attempted empathy has always done nothing but pissed me off. Kyle offering to ‘hide’ me like an escaped convict will only result in one thing: I’ll have to eventually go back home and my dad will beat the shit out of me and then my mother when she tries to intervene. It’s a simple formula, one that I’ve grown disgustingly accustomed to. It’s a life that the ever prim and proper Kyle Broflovski could never _begin_ to imagine.  
  
“I’ll be fine, Kyle,” I finally spill out. “I’m used to it.”  
  
I can see him readying himself to go into an angry rant, no doubt him screaming about how I _shouldn’t_ be used to it, that I’m a human being, that I deserve to be treated kindly. I’ve heard it all from him before. I raise my brow in surprise when his face falls defeatedly and he just lets loose a long sigh, shaking his head. I watch his curls bounce around his face before focusing back on his green eyes as they open to me again. “I...I hope...you get used to something better,” he works out in a fluster. “You’re too good of a person for that kind of life, Ken.”  
  
I blink at him in shock. Good? No. No apparently Kyle doesn’t know the _first_ thing about me. Had he said ‘apathetic’ or ‘empty’ I’d be inclined to agree. “Maybe I’m not as good as you think,” I reply smartly, scarfing down the rest of my sandwich and leaning back against the railing. I cross my arms and focus my attention down onto the field, watching the football team coming out. My eyes hit a bright red 35 and a frantic waving hand. I glance to the face, seeing Stan smiling at me widely. I give him a subtle wave back before he beams, putting on his helmet and rushing out onto the field. I flinch a bit as that telltale sting swipes over my chest, letting out a shuddery breath. Apparently this really _is_ important to the guy. Never would have figured. He seemed happy enough just basking in the glow that’s his never-ending popularity. Though how he’s maintained that stance hanging out with myself, Kyle, and Cartman I’ll never know. Either way, I can’t help but stew a bit in rage. He’s so happy to see me here, but did he ever really take _notice_ that I wasn’t at the others? Did he ever stop to think _why_ I wasn’t sitting here freezing my ass off for his benefit? No. No he just figured I was a dick and made a constant point of thanking Kyle for coming to his games profusely in front of me, like trying to rub it in that Kyle was his ‘real friend’ and I was nothing more than a jerk. Whatever. Works well enough for me.  
  
“I think you’re a good guy,” Kyle suddenly murmurs just over the cheers erupting from the crowd as we both watch Stan taking his starting position. “And so does Stan. I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, Kenny.”  
  
I roll my eyes a bit and sigh in aggravation. “Ky, I ain’t interested in a goddamn after-school special about my attitude, okay?”  
  
He looks at me and I watch in confusion as pure hurt flashes through his jade stare. “Sorry,” he says quietly. “Guess I just miss the old Kenny.” He turns back and puts his attention back onto the game as I stare at the side of his head in complete befuddlement. He looks almost crushed, like I told him I bought him a puppy and handed him a fucking wasp.  
  
_‘Old’_ Kenny? What old Kenny? The one that they consistently ignored and literally just followed them around with nothing more than the occasional quip? The one that did nothing but hide in his fucking hood trying to blend into the pavement? The one that died in front of them time and again to the point where Kyle and Stan had their fucking little spiel down to an art form, but moved on away from my body the second afterwards? I sigh angrily, wishing that my sweater’s hood could provide the complete closure my parka used to. I snap it up over my head anyway, blocking my view of Kyle and glaring down towards the game. A part of me really wants to pick up the kid and throw him down the bleachers, I won’t lie. He’s acting like he _knows_ me, like he has the slightest inkling of what’s been going on in my life, not to mention my deaths. But that’s just how he is. Kyle has always tried to read us all like books. And with Stan and Cartman, he’s more often than not succeeded. With myself, however? All he wants to do is open the cover and read the synopsis. He’s barely broken the surface of who I am, skimming along the pages and only pointing out things that have caught his attention. He doesn’t want to take the time to read my soliloquy, only interested in the occasional monologues that burst out every few chapters.  
  
But I suppose that’s something he and I relate on. We don’t care much for delving further than we have to, relying only on what’s in front of our faces to get us through the day. I’m not interested in his thoughts on me and he’s apparently not interested in mine on him. I suppose it’s lasted us well enough our last eighteen years, kept us as friends with a very basic relationship and nothing more. But that monotony will be good enough of a routine between the both of us for the remaining 401 days. Then maybe he can finally close the goddamn book.


	5. Day 34 - October 1st

Over a month later and this shit isn’t getting any easier. When Damien said it wouldn’t be easy being a nice person with all this crushing pessimism constantly weighing me down, I didn’t know he’d be so on the mark. However, there is an annoying side effect that’s coming from me starting to make my attempts: People are finally noticing me. Not to the point where there’s a ticker tape parade each time I enter a room, but now I have a few people who’ll smile or wave at me in the halls of school. It’s nothing dramatic, not by a long shot. But people that I’m not all that familiar with are starting to feel comfortable enough with me to want interaction, even if it’s something as miniscule as a polite nod. Luckily enough, giving those little pieces of my time seem to be helping move my feathers right along.  
  
However, as I said, it’s downright annoying. It’s amazing how I can be a missing persons case for all my life and everyone just turns away and goes about their business. Tell someone that you like their speech or whatever and all of a sudden you’re in their world and worthy of their ‘precious’ time. I guess when they say a compliment goes a long way, they’re not lyin’. It’s fascinating in a way. People cling to kindness, like it’s an opiate that they just can’t let go of. It makes sense, I’ve went without it for so long that I’m finally recovered, but the withdrawal was a living Hell to get through. Nights spent lying wide awake, lashing out at people, screaming to myself, wanting nothing more than to just curl up and vanish and let go of all of my pathetic misery. But that was long in the past, now I’m just indifferent. Angry still, but to the point where it’s not eating me alive, it’s just keeping me on my toes about the people surrounding me.  
  
I make my way out of the house after a particularly enthralling bout of avoiding my father’s drunken rage and step out into the fall air with a tired sigh. It’s a Saturday so I can’t leech off of people at school for my ‘good deed’ of the day. I’ll have to find it myself, which is just a lot of strenuous effort that I’m not willing to exert.  
  
“How’s it goin’, McCormick?” a voice pops up behind me. I whirl around and see Damien standing on the sidewalk with a snarky grin.  
  
“Didn’t know you could be in daylight without bursting into flame, Dam,” I reply cooly, though my heart is pounding a mile a minute from the unexpected visitor.  
 He raises a thick, dark brow. “You think I’m a vampire or something?”  
  
I shrug, “Well you _do_ have fangs, Bro. But no, I just figured being in the sunshine would damper your shadowy disposition so much that you’d spontaneously combust.”  
  
He snorts a bit and rolls his eyes. “I’m here to help you, you dickhead so I suggest you play nice.”  
  
My eyes widen in curiosity, “Gonna make this shit go faster? Cut my days down?”  
  
“You wish,” he smirks. “No. I have a specific way for you to earn your barb for the day.”  
  
I shove my hands in my pocket and walk over to him, standing a few feet in front of him. “I’m all ears.”  
  
“Do you know Bebe Stevens?” he asks.  
  
I nod slowly, “Yeah? What? I need to take her on a pity date?”  
  
He scoffs, “Yeah, right. She’s way out of your league and you know it, McCormick.” I can’t exactly argue with that. Bebe’s been the bombshell of school since we were in sixth grade. She goes through guys like most of us go through showers. He continues, “But no. Her mother passed away earlier this week and was buried yesterday.”  
  
My stomach drops. I didn’t even know anything about that. It would explain why she wasn’t in Geography the last few days though, that’s for sure. “Jesus. What happened?” I ask.  
  
He shrugs, “Breast Cancer as far as I can tell.”  
  
I blink, “That would explain the goddamn ‘pink day’ that was going on on Thursday.” He nods. I bite my lip a bit guiltily. I hadn’t been paying the slightest bit of attention to what was going on. I just went about my day, hearing the words ‘poor Bebe’ here and there, even from Stan and Kyle, but I didn’t actually care enough to listen to anything more than that. I just figured she had another legendary break up. “Shit...that sucks,” I say lamely, scratching through my hair awkwardly. I have no idea how to feel. I’m usually jealous of people who can pass on and stay gone, but I’ve never had anyone close to me lose anyone for quite some time. A part of me wishes I could have taken Mrs. Steven’s place, I suppose.  
  
“Indeed it does,” he raises his brow, watching me peculiarly. “Now, your task is to go see her and give her some comfort.”  
  
I look back at him and can’t help but scowl. “Okay, for one thing: Why? And for another: I’m not her friend, me saying something isn’t going to do a damn thing for her.”  
  
He crosses his arms and sighs irritably. “One: Because I’m trying to help make this easier for you, McCormick, so you should consider yourself lucky that I’m taking time out of my busy schedule to help you. And two: Friend or not, people need comfort in times like these. I know you have your whole ‘bitterness over death’ bullshit going on, but you need to realize that mortals are fragile creatures. They need every supporting block that they can get.”  
  
I roll my eyes a bit, “Since when do you care so much about mortals?”  
  
“I don’t. I care about fixing my goddamn system and you helping that girl is going to push you further in that direction. Now, she’s at the graveyard, are you willing to actually help her or do you want to forfeit this challenge altogether?”  
  
I frown, staring at the sidewalk. I don’t know what to tell her. No doubt she’s already heard it all before. ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ won’t do a damn thing. Me offering to be there for her is an empty promise and we would _both_ know it. I sigh in aggravation and look up to see Damien staring at me impatiently. “Fine,” I mutter. “Don’t know what I can tell her, though.”  
  
 He smirks again, grasping my arm. I can’t help but yelp as within a flash, we’re thrown through a whitened void and emerge almost instantly on the grass outside of the cemetery. He lets go of me and I fall down onto my knees, glaring up at him snidely. “You’ll think of something, McCormick,” he says before disappearing down into the ground in an inky puddle of shadow. I watch for a few moments before getting back onto my feet and dusting myself off. I glance around, seeing a telltale shock of curly blonde hair and a red sweater off and away kneeling on the ground sobbing. I frown, seeing another set of hair: Long, straight, and black draped over a purple jacket. Of _course_ Wendy would be here, too. I may not have the same reasons for disliking Testaburger that Kyle harbors, but I’ve never been her fan, that’s for sure. Having her here is just another fucking issue that I’m not willing to deal with.  
  
I sigh, kicking a bit at some gravel under my feet and glancing away from them, surveying the grand array of headstones. It’s remarkable. I _know_ these people. Not personally, but I’ve been them. I laugh humorlessly, recalling that I’ve had quite a few funerals of my own. How can anyone just _forget_ that they watched my coffin being lowered into the dirt? How can they forget the eulogies they made? An entire day taken over by my death, and yet somehow, it just escapes them. What happens with my headstone? My coffin? Are they still there or do they just turn back up wherever they were manufactured without anyone having the slightest clue? I’ve never personally made the venture out to figure out where I’ve been buried, so I can only assume that’s the case, as no one’s came up to me and said ‘Dude, there’s someone with your name and birthday that got buried next to my aunt’ or something of the sort. I sigh, looking back up to see Bebe and Wendy huddled up next to each other on the plot. I guess my own problems don’t quite matter in the moment, Bebe’s do.  
  
I bite my lip, beginning to traipse over towards them, my mind overrun with possibilities of what would even have the slightest bit of improvement on her state of mind. Probably nothing. As I said, I’ve never lost anyone close to me, so I’m not entirely sure of what the right thing to say is. Guess I’ll have to play it by ear like I have this whole fucking feathers ordeal.  
  
I make it up beside them and they both look at me, mild shock running through their tear-glossed eyes. I lower myself onto my knees beside Bebe and watch her face turn from sorrow to shock to anger in a mere second. “What do you want?” she sobs out.  
  
I gingerly reach over and put my hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Bebe,” I say softly.  
  
“Great, now leave,” Wendy snaps. I look over at her and blink in surprise. Jesus it’s not like I asked Bebe for a blowjob or something, but Wendy is making it look like I’m the scum of the Earth right now.  
  
“What’d I do?” I ask.  
  
She sets her lip in a firm line, pushing my hand off of Bebe’s shoulder and wrapping her arm around the blonde. “Nothing _yet_ , but she doesn’t need you to be the apathetic asshole that you are right now. So just leave, Kenneth.”  
  
I narrow my eyes at her a bit, wanting to rip out her stupid hair for calling me fucking ‘Kenneth’ like she’s my mother or some shit. I hate Wendy. I always have. And this just makes me want to make her another body to bury in this goddamn graveyard. I opt for keeping it cool however, directing my attention onto Bebe. I can’t help but feel a sliver of pure sympathy for her. She’s bent over, clutching at her stomach like in insurmountable amounts of pain, just staring at the array of fresh dirt in front of us. I’ve never seen her looking like this. Bebe has always carried herself like a magazine model, compact mirror glued to her hip, hairbrush and lotion always kept in her backpack. She always looks like she’s fresh out of a photo shoot. But now, she’s makeup-less, her hair is in complete disarray. Her hazel eyes are sunken in, she probably hasn’t slept since her mother passed. I let out a long, silent breath through my nose. It’s amazing. This is the most _human_ I’ve ever seen her look. It’s terrible that it takes such horrid circumstances to get some people down to that point, but there it is: In the end, all of us are human. Some of us just hide it better than others.  
  
“Bebe,” I say softly. She looks up at me, her bottom lip quivering. I try to ignore Wendy’s warning growl and focus on those broken eyes. “Your mom...definitely earned her wings,” I say, trying to keep the wince off my face.  
  
Bebe blinks at me, cocking her head slightly. “Earned...her wings?” she repeats. I shudder. Her voice is so raspy, no doubt from crying so much. It’s not the confident Bebe that I hear screaming out at pep rallies and lecturing her boyfriends. It’s scared and timid. My mind flashes back to Kyle and I talking at Stan’s game, how his usual toughness just seemed to dissipate in front of me. All these emotions that I’m just not used to dealing with seem to be driving towards me faster than any semi that ever ran me over, that’s for sure.  
  
I see her waiting expectantly, so I clear my throat and nod, “I’ve heard that...every person gets 412 days to earn their wings,” I say slowly. May as well just pull out what I know, it’ll get me through it faster. “A-and you have to accomplish that many good deeds to earn all of your feathers for your wings. Your mom...did so much for the community,” I force a smile on my face. “She always helped with...with bake sales and charity drives and stuff. Always helped you girls through whatever problems you had...she did more than enough to get her wings.”  
  
“Why 412?” she whispers, scanning over my face in a bit of a daze.  
  
I shrug, “Because angels have 824 feathers total. Each good deed earns another feather, and each one is a reflection of itself. It’s all about balance. Your mom was one of the most balanced people I’ve met,” I say quietly. A total lie. I think I met Mrs. Stevens maybe twice in my life, but it just seemed to be the right thing to say. “So...I know you’re sad...and I know it’s hard. But just know that she definitely got where she needed to be.”  
  
I flicker my eyes up from Bebe, seeing Wendy staring at me in shock, her jaw dropped in the slightest. I’m about to question her before I yelp in surprise as a pair of arms suddenly wrap around me. I look down, seeing Bebe clinging around my chest and I clear my throat softly, awkwardly wrapping back around her. “Thank you,” she whispers. I wince at another slice going through my chest and just nod against her. This feels beyond odd. I haven’t hugged anyone but my sister since I was probably eleven years old. Much to my relief, she backs up, her eyes still welled with tears but not nearly as waterlogged as before to my own shock. “Where’d you hear that story?” she asks me.  
  
I tongue over my lips. Saying the Devil’s son probably won’t make her feel better that’s for damn sure. “I don’t remember where I heard it,” I lie. “But it’s something I heard when I was a kid in passing and I’ve lived by it ever since,” I shrug. I look up at Wendy pointedly and can’t help but frown at her. “Sometimes ‘apathetic’ people are the ones who need to hear those kinds of things to keep them going.” Wendy opens her mouth to retort before slowly shutting it, still looking at me skeptically. I look back at Bebe, who’s mindlessly nodding along to my words, hazel eyes still scanning over me like I’m her moment’s messiah. It’s uncomfortable, but I allow it. She’s had a hard enough past few days, she doesn’t need me being a dickhead and questioning her right now. She gives me the barest wisp of a smile and I return it, patting her shoulder. “Look, if you need anything, just holler, okay?” I say. Once again, it’s an empty promise, but it seems to perk her up in the slightest. I guess hearing it from someone you consider heartless is reaffirming in some way. “You’ll be okay, she’s watching you,” I finish before getting to my feet and walking off and away. I can feel their stares on my back, trying not to just run from them like I want to.  
  
My heart is pounding. My chest is twisted in a strange rush of anxiety and guilt that I didn’t know I could harbor anymore. I can’t help but wonder: Did I just lie to a girl who just lost her mother? For all I know, her mom has started being tortured down in the pits of Hell, but I don’t know. I don’t _want_ to know. In all honesty, I’m hoping I’m right about her making it up to Heaven. Bebe’s face just makes me want to hope for the best, foreign as it may seem.  
  
“You’re a dirty cheat,” I hear laughing from my side. I look over, finding Damien leaning against a tree and chuckling at me in amusement.  
  
“How is it cheating?” I raise my brow, making my way towards him.  
  
“Okay, so it’s not so much cheating as it is a lack of creativity,” he smirks, brushing his bangs out of his ruby eyes. “Certainly seems to have done the trick, though,” he comments. “You humans are so eager to switch your emotions over at the turn of a phrase.”  
  
“People who are sad need it most of all,” I shrug. I would know. I went so many years being sad, looking for _anything_ to get me out of my rut. I was desperate enough that I would hang out with Cartman just for the opportunity to see him torturing someone else and make me feel less shitty about myself. Unfortunately his favorite victim was always Kyle, so I usually just ended up angry at Cartman along with the redhead. Going from sadness to anger was nothing that made me feel better, that’s for sure. It just gave me headaches. I would’ve killed for someone to sit and talk with me like I did Bebe, however. Or at least, that’s what I’ll keep telling myself. I know far in the back of my mind that Stan and Kyle _did_ make that effort, several times in fact. But I learned that you can get into so deep a rut at some point that you completely block out anyone trying to tell you that it’ll get better. I guess I lucked out getting to Bebe before she found herself enveloped in that darkness. It’s certainly no walk in the park.  
  
Damien chuckles again and shakes his head. “Mortals. You’re all made of porcelain. You all break so easily.”  
  
I shrug again. I can’t say he’s wrong...but I know deep down that he is. I look back over, seeing Bebe and Wendy turned and talking to each other, Bebe seeming to sit a little straighter than she was earlier. Humans _aren’t_ the strongest, every single person knows that. But damn do we try. We stave through issues that plague us, we try valiantly to fight through death  and despair and come out on top of it all. My fingers go up on their own accord and stroke along the marking on my chest, my eyes still locked on Bebe. She’ll be fine. It’ll hurt. It’ll hurt like a motherfucker, but she’s going to make it through this and come out stronger than before. A part of me can’t help but feel the slightest bit of envy. I lost that fight long ago, and I know how tough it is to work through it all.  
  
Without the slightest ounce of hesitation or anger, I’m sincere when I say that I wish her the best.  
  



	6. Day 36 - October 3rd

You’d think after almost four years one would get used to the constant barrage of slamming lockers and squeaking tennis shoes. But no, it’s still just as annoying now as it was when I was a freshman. It reminds me that I’m not alone, that there’s a countless amount of people just scurrying about me not really caring about me unless I happen to be in their way when they’re late for class. It’s astounding, the amount of apathy that others harbor. Wendy judged _me_ for not liking to express myself too much and yet here goes everyone else about their day only focused on a select group of people and their impending exams. I’m not alone on the sea of dissatisfaction, I just happened to get kicked off the liner and I’m floating alone on a raft, adrift and heading to God knows where.  
  
I jump as someone taps my back, turning from my locker to see Stan standing behind me with a weird, unreadable smile. “Dude, what’s wrong with your face?” I can’t help but snort. Stan has three typical expressions I’ve learned over the years: The ‘I just won the game’ goofy grin, the ‘I fucked up with Wendy’ moping frown, and the ‘I swear to God Kyle if you lecture me on drinking again I’ll literally beat my head against this locker until I go unconscious’ annoyed nose pinch. This smile is gentle and...surprised in a way. It’s throwing me for a loop. Kyle’s the one who has the wide variety of expressions, not Stan. Not around me at least.  
  
He quirks his brow a bit before shrugging sheepishly. “Wanna walk with me to lunch?”  
  
“Uh, sure?” I raise my own back at him, throwing my math book into my locker and turning on my heel, beginning to walk with him down the hall, dodging around our peers. “Wendy mad at you again?”  
  
He shakes his head, “Nah, for once, I’m in the clear,” he chuckles. “I wanted to talk to you, though. Actually it’s something that Wendy told me about you.”  
  
Oh great. I take a deep breath through my nose and smack my lips tiredly. I can’t wait to hear the tales that Wendy fucking Testaburger’s been spreading about me. The last time she decided to tell people something she observed about me, I ended up being forced to talk to Mackey for about five hours because she thought I was a danger to myself. If only that bitch knew the half of it. “Oh? Was she telling you how hot she finds me?” I smirk a bit at his disapproving pout. He knows I’m joking though, I’ve never been subtle on my feelings towards his girlfriend. We came to the consensus however that so long as I kept those feelings bottled up when _around_ her, he wouldn’t beat the shit out of me. Seems fair to me.    
  
“No, trust me, she likes tall dark and handsome things,” he smirks. “You’re tall, pale, and a freak.”  
  
“Gee. Thanks,” I roll my eyes dryly at his soft laughter. I know the guy’s joking but I kind of want to shove him into a locker like a cliche son of a bitch.  
  
He looks back at me with that weird smile again, “Actually, she told me what you did for Bebe. That was really cool of you, Dude. I didn’t know that you cared.”  
  
I feel my face heating up and force out a scoff, throwing my hood up over my head and keeping my eyes to the front. “Her mom died. It wasn’t caring, it was just...uh...” I bite my lip, trying to think of an excuse. I know I don’t care, but I can’t exactly tell Stan what the hell I’m up to. “Just sucks for her, ya know?”  
  
He nods softly. “Yeah, yeah it does suck. I can’t imagine losing someone that close to me.” I bite down harshly and curse, feeling a sharp pain on my tongue and blood beginning to seep down into the bottom of my mouth. Have to keep it cool. If I attack Stan, he’ll beat the ever living shit out of me. I’m not dumb, but damn am I angry. It’s just like when he was sobbing thinking Kyle was going to die years ago from that iffy kidney of his. Sitting there crying his eyes out, completely ignoring when he lost me not ten seconds later. Guess I’m not as close to Stan as he likes to believe we are.  
  
“Well, shit happens,” I manage to mutter out. “Sucks, but it happens. That’s life and all that.”  
  
“Yeah,” he muses. “Still though, Wends says that whatever you said to Bebe helped her a good deal. I mean, duh she’s still sad, but she’s more...” he pauses for a moment, searching for his word.  
  
“Optimistic,” another voice breaks in. We look over and I see Kyle making his way beside us with a grin at me. “I heard about it, too, Ken. You really helped her out.”  
  
“Oh my god, I just fucking offered my condolences,” I roll my eyes. Jesus Christ wasn’t _everyone_ telling her things to make her feel better? It’s just what you do when someone dies, right? You give them an awkward hug, deal through them sniffling onto your shirt, give them your best sympathetic expression, and tell them you’re there for them. Everyone does that. It’s a simple formula that you don’t fuck around with. Occasionally there’s a fond memory, or in my case, a story that gets passed around in the natural jumble, but why are these people acting like I raised her mom from the fucking dead?  
  
I can see Stan and Kyle looking at each other in concern before Kyle’s voice pops back up. “Kenny, it’s just...no one expected _you_ of all people to jump in there with kind words, ya know?” he winced. “I mean, you didn’t react at all when the news was spreading around.”  
  
I shrug listlessly, throwing my hood back off my head. It’s too damn hot for the damn thing right now. I look down and see the redhead staring at me expectantly. “I honestly wasn’t paying attention when people were talking about it,” I reply. “I try not to get involved in other people’s business.”  
  
He frowns a bit and lets out a long sigh. “Well...still. I’m glad you let yourself get involved with this one. What did you tell her, anyway? I only heard snippets through the grapevine,” he waves towards the hall aimlessly.  
  
“A story,” I roll my eyes. “It’s not important. She’s feeling better, shouldn’t we just leave it at that and let her grieve?”  
  
“We are,” Stan raises his brow. “But...” he trails off with a sigh and I notice Kyle giving him a weird signal to continue his thought. Best friends and their goddamn pantomiming, I’ll tell ya. “Ken, can I ask you something?”  
  
I knew being nice would come back to haunt me. We make our way into the cafeteria, the three of us sitting at our usual table with Cartman. “Sup, Fags?” he nods a bit, taking a bite of pizza. “Heard Kinny is Bebe’s knight in poverty-class armor.”  
  
“Oh for the love of fuck,” I sigh angrily, letting my head slam down onto the table. I look over at Stan who’s still staring at me waiting for my answer. “What, Stan?”  
  
“Well it’s just...” he looks hesitantly before grabbing his lunch out of his backpack and tossing it on the table, sorting through contents without looking at me. “Usually you don’t care about like, death and stuff,” he shrugs. “Why the change of heart?”  
  
I narrow my eyes. Don’t care about death? That’s the only fucking problem that’s been prominent on my mind since I was a goddamn toddler! “I just thought she didn’t need to deal with that crap,” I grit out through my teeth, turning back and folding my arms under my head, trying to hide my face in the fabric of my sweatshirt. My nose crinkles a bit. It still smells like stale whisky from my father throwing a glass at me last night. Fantastic.  
  
Something juts into my arm and I look over to see Kyle handing me another sandwich, blushing yet again. “Couldn’t do non-Kosher this time,” he chuckles awkwardly. “Ma was home all goddamn day again.”  
  
I sit up and sigh, taking it from him and nodding, forcing myself to smile at him in a way that doesn’t display my humiliation at taking his handouts with vigor. “Thanks.” I stare down at the bread in my hand, listlessly picking at it and eating crumbs.  
  
“How come you never make me or Stan food, Jew?” Cartman whines.  
  
Kyle rolls his eyes, “Because Stan’s mom still packs his lunch like he’s fucking five and you’ve got enough food stored away in your fat ass to supply a goddamn third world country with heat for an ice age!” I can’t help but snicker a bit, watching the two of them launching into yet another lively ‘fuck you, Jew; up yours, Fatass’ debate and biting into my turkey. Kyle continues ranting, not even looking as he slides me over a bag of crackers and apple slices with some water. I shake my head lightly. He’s been doing this for me since we were goddamn fourteen or some shit. According to him, his family’s income is more than enough, that they don’t give away enough to begin with. And he was pretty adamant that he’d like to know for _sure_ anything he gave was going to a good cause and not into some greedy CEO’s hands. Course after he told me that, he realized that he’d basically insinuated I was his charity case and spent about an hour flustered and fumbling trying to assure me that’s not how he actually viewed me, that he just hated to see me do without. I appreciate the sentiment, I always have. And I know that he doesn’t see me as nothing more than his own little goodwill martyr trip, but I know well enough that’s what I am. I’m how Kyle’s earning his own feathers, even if he doesn’t realize it himself.  
  
I can’t say it’s a terrible job to have.  
  
“-nny?”  
  
I blink and shake my head, looking to see Kyle staring at me in concern. “What?”  
  
“You okay?” he asks. “You’re kinda spacing out, Dude.”  
  
I shrug, taking another bite of my lunch. “Yeah. Just...weirded out by people and the Bebe situation,” I say. It’s not exactly a lie, though I can’t say myself why I brought the damn topic back up.  
  
Cartman snorts a bit, “Got a boner for Bebe, huh?”  
  
I scrunch my nose in distaste. “No. Trust me, just no. I mean, I know her mom just died and all, but I’d rather rip off my own dick and choke myself to death on it than wind up with her.” She’s got a rocking body, I’d never deny that. But her personality makes me want to slam her head into a wall. Way too loud and just _way_ too into herself for me to really give two shits about her one way or the other.  
  
“What a fag,” he scoffs. “Everyone knows she’s got the hottest knockers.”  
  
“Appropriate considering her current circumstance, you sack of shit,” Kyle mutters disapprovingly, stealing a few glances my way I notice. He takes a bite of his own apple, bristling when Cartman starts speaking again.  
  
“Well, we all know that you’re into dudes, Kahl, don’t rain on our straight parade.”  
 “Cartman, knock it off,” Stan warns, giving Kyle a discreet sympathetic glance. I look between the two of them with my eyes narrowed a bit. The fuck are the two of them so worked up about?  
  
Of course, true to character, this doesn’t slow down Cartman’s ridiculous tirade. “Ah, so you’re the object of his fantasies then, Hippie?” he smirks, taking a sip of his soda and raising an amused brow. “I take it you’re happy with that? Not surprising. Probably love posing for him naked or some shit and jacking off to each other.”  
  
They both look at him in disgust, “The _fuck_ is wrong with you?!” Kyle exclaims.  
  
“I think I’m gonna throw up,” Stan cringes, pushing his lunch away. I move my own food closer to Kyle, knowing that he’s not joking. It’s a very viable possibility that we’re about to see his breakfast spewed out in front of us.  
  
“Better jacking off to Kyle than some other dude,” I shrug dismissively. I look over to see Kyle blushing like a madman and trying to hide behind his water bottle, looking down at the table. He might burn a hole through it as intense as his embarrassed stare is. I can’t help but snicker. I hate to admit it, but Cartman’s right, he’s just too easy of a target to catch off guard with shit like that and make him into a goddamn turtle. At least on my end. Had Cartman himself said that, well, our table would weigh about 300 pounds less.  
  
“Puh-lease,” Cartman rolls his eyes. “The Jew is the _last_ fucking person someone’d get off to.”  
  
“Drop it, for the love of God!” Stan rubs his eyes in nausea.  
  
Kyle looks at him incredulously, “The fuck is working _you_ up about it, Stan? I’m the one being goddamn scrutinized here!”  
  
“Because he’s in love with you, obviously,” Cartman smirks, his brown eyes glittering as Kyle snarls at him.  
  
“Cartman. Drop. It,” he growls in warning. “May I remind you the last time you pissed me off, you were out of school for a week from ‘falling down a hill’,” he air quotes. Cartman opens his mouth before realizing he’s not facing a light threat and turns back to his food muttering something about ‘Jew fag’ or something of the sort. I smile a bit as Kyle tries to calm himself down, clenching his fingers around his apple therapeutically. He’s always done that when Cartman irks him at lunch. I think it’s almost just habitual at this point, I don’t know if it actually helps him or not. God help Cartman when he doesn’t have an apple nearby though. Kyle’s fucked him up pretty good in their last few full-out brawls. Not like Kyle didn’t come out unscathed, but last time he managed to somehow knock Cartman unconscious and limp away victorious. Definitely a proud moment for Stan and I...before Kyle passed out on the walk home and we had to carry him back. Either way, the kid knows he’s got a slight upper hand, and it’s always a treat to see him use it.  
  
“Kenny?” a voice pops up behind us. We turn, seeing Red looking at me with a strangely happy face. I don’t think I’ve talked to her since we hooked up nearly a year ago.  
  
“Sup, Red?” I raise my brow. “Need somethin’?”  
  
She shakes her head, looking at the four of us nervously. I don’t know why she’s here. She’s still in Bebe’s little cheerleader clique. Boys fawning over her like she’s a goddamn goddess or some shit. I just took her home because we were drunk and horny, I have little to no interest in making further conversation with her other than ‘take off your clothes’. “I...wanted to say...thank you,” she smiles a bit.  
  
“For...?” I urge on.  
  
She tucks her hair behind her ear and clears her throat. “Bebe...told me the story that you told her. And...it was really beautiful,” she shrugs.  
  
I raise my brow and feel my face heating up, the guys staring at me curiously. “Uh...you’re welcome?” I wince.  
  
She shakes her head. “No, no. I want to thank you because I told my grandfather that story and he loved it.”  
 I blink and cock my head. This is confusing. It’s just a goddamn story. Given it’s a true story, but it’s literally just earning goddamn feathers. It’s not like it’s an epic tale of love or some corny bullshit like that. “Well...tell _him_ you’re welcome then?” I shrug, at a complete loss here for something to say.  
  
She chuckles a bit and rubs her arms. “Gramps is...really _really_ sick,” she says sadly. “Alzheimer’s, you know,” she shrugs with a sigh.  
  
“Oh, Dude, I’m sorry, Red,” Stan breaks in gently. I feel a sliver of pity for him. I know his  own grandpa suffered with it for a good while before it finally took him when we were about twelve. He knows better than any of us how shitty the whole situation is.  
  
“Well, it happens,” she says listlessly. “Anyway,” she shakes herself out and looks back at me with that grin spreading once again. “I visit him everyday, tell him stories and whatever since my parents can’t get there before visiting hours are up,” she shrugs. “Usually he just...sits and stares at the wall. I know he’s listening but he never reacts to it. But yesterday I told him your story and...he smiled,” she grins wider, my stomach dropping with tears glistening her eyes. Oh god not more of _this_. “I haven’t seen him smile in almost a year. So...thank you.”  
  
“It...I-it’s no problem,” I stammer through, blinking rapidly. I feel that anxiety worming its way back into my chest, going completely rigid when she leans down and hugs me around my shoulders. I couldn’t return it even if I wanted to, I’m fucking frozen in this bullshittery, my heart pounding out of goddamn control just wanting this moment to be over with. I flinch a bit as another barb is slashed onto my chest, my breath hitching in my throat. At least I didn’t have to make additional effort for this one, I suppose.  
  
She finally backs up off me after what seems like for-fucking-ever and wipes her eyes a bit. “Your story was really sweet, Kenny. And so are you,” she finishes, kissing my cheek and making her way back towards her table. We all watch after her, my mouth is agape in shock.  
  
“Dude, she totally digs you,” Stan elbows me a bit.  
  
Cartman scoffs and rolls his eyes, “Please. What girl has ‘can’t afford toothpaste’ as a fucking kink?”  
  
I turn back in my seat, mindlessly grabbing the rest of my sandwich and slowly chewing. That was beyond bizarre. This whole chain of thanking thing is just way too odd for me to be able to get behind. I can feel a very certain pair of green eyes next to me staring me down and really don’t have the courage to look up and face them. “You gonna ask her out?” Stan asks. “Seems like she’d be all over that.”  
  
“Dude, her grandpa is sick,” Kyle says quietly.  
  
“Well that doesn’t mean she’s unavailable!” he complains. “Dude, she thinks you’re her savant or some shit,” he grins, elbowing me again. I can’t tear my eyes off the table. I feel smothered in awkward, in this uncomfortable lingering feeling wafting around me. Learning about these people’s lives, their problems...it’s sickening. No one should feel any sense of pride in making someone cry, even if it _is_ happiness causing it all. “So?” he asks again.  
  
“Stan, leave him alone,” Kyle interjects again. I muster up the courage to look over at the redhead, who’s giving me a very weak reassuring smile. I’m dumbfounded by the look in his eyes. He looks crushed again. “See, Ken?” he says softly. “You are a good person, regardless of what you seem to think...” he trails off, cheeks tinging before turning back to his own food, putting his focus down into his meal. I watch curiously at his fingers clenching back around his apple and can’t help but sigh. Good person or not, I’m not liking this. I don’t like making other people suffer, I don’t like seeing them cry... My shoulders droop a bit. Well, I guess I _do_ want them to cry over me...but I don’t like being _around_ to see the tears. The influx of my own emotions that follow is just too multitudinous for me to be able to keep up with.  
  
All I can do is hope the rest of my barbs aren’t earned this way. It just seems to be a fate worse than death.


	7. Day 78 - November 14th

I can’t say I love being home, but sometimes it _does_ beat the alternatives. Dealing with school all day just makes me crave my bed, old and musty as it may be, stained with God knows what and fabric worn to the brink. It’s familiarity though, and I feel much more relaxed when on my own in my room. It’s the only haven I seem to have. I lie back atop it and stare at my ceiling, sighing tiredly. Over two months down and this shit still isn’t natural for me. I still haven’t managed to earn my barb for today, but an easy fix for that is Karen. As soon as Kevin brings her back from taking her out to get some ice cream, I’ll spend some time talking to her. It always seems to make her day. I’ll definitely miss Karen more than anyone once I’m finally done with this whole ordeal. Maybe I can convince God to let me keep watching over her. I don’t want my little sister to be without the ‘angel’ that I’ve become for her over the years. I hung up my Mysterion getup years ago, but I can still hear her sometimes talking to ‘him’ from her room. It was almost enough to make me throw the cape back on, but she’s older and a hell of a lot smarter now. I don’t want her to figure out that her mysterious personal vigilante was just her older brother. I want to keep that part just for myself.  
  
 I flinch a bit hearing Mom and Dad screaming at each other from their bedroom on the other side of the house. Their voices can certainly carry when they get into it, that’s for damn sure. ‘Shut up, Bitch’ this and ‘Fuck you, Asshole’ that. They’re almost as predictable as Kyle and Cartman sometimes, I swear. However, a break in the chain makes me nearly recoil, hearing my mom scream my name. Not for help, but in the middle of a sentence somewhere. I can’t tell what it’s about, but it’s not often that any of us kids actually are involved in their arguments. I sit up and stare at the wall towards their bedroom, hearing them still ranting and raving. My name pops up _again_ and I blink in confusion. I’ve barely talked to those two since my deal was struck. I figure that they can both set me off so easily I’d fuck up my chances in a heartbeat, so I’ve been playing the avoidance game as best as I can.  
  
It’s not easy when your house is the size of a trailer, though, I’ll say that much.  
  
My name. Again. What the fuck is even happening? I can’t help myself, pulling up my hood and tugging the drawstrings as tightly as I can. I can still hear them, but at least I can pretend that I’m in a bubble, cut off from the world that I’ve been raised in. I chuckle humorlessly to myself, remembering that doing this as a kid, I used to pretend my hood was my mother. Enveloping me in warmth, holding onto me tightly, telling me that everything was going to be just fine. I haven’t seen the actual maternal side of my mom since I was probably about five. I sigh, folding my knees up and clinging around them, burying my head down and shaking it slightly.  
  
A knock on my door brings me out of my dreary state. “Yeah?” I call out, muffled by the fabric of my hood. I look up to see Kevin and Karen walking in, Kevin shutting the door behind him.  
  
“Ken, whad’jya do this time?” he raises his brow suspiciously at me.  
  
I shrug, letting Karen slide up against me and sit with me against my wall. “I dunno,” I say.  
  
Karen scoffs and rolls her eyes, reaching up and yanking my hood down. “Not again, Kenny,” she pouts. “It’s too hard to understand ya when ya got that thing on.”  
  
I smile sheepishly at her. She’s probably the one person in the world who can pull off my hood and not get punched in the face. She’s lucky I love the shit out of her. “Fine, I’ll only wear it when not in Your Majesty’s presence,” I roll my eyes teasingly.  
  
“Damn straight,” she smirks, crossing her arms and legs and snuggling back against the wall.  
  
We look up as Kevin comes over, plopping to my other side and sitting with us. He looks at me and I’m relieved to see his hazel eyes aren’t bloodshot. He’s usually a drunk son of a bitch like our father before us, but after a long brawl between the two of us when he tried driving Karen somewhere when off his rocker, he knows better now. He never drinks when taking her out to places anymore, less I give him a broken nose once more. “Kar told me they fight ‘bout cha a lot,” he comments.  
  
I blink. They do? I wouldn’t know, I’m so busy trying to evade them I refuse to get involved with their petty bullshit. Usually I come to bed and throw on headphones or something to block out their screaming, why I didn’t tonight, I’ll never know. I’m really regretting it, though. “Well I didn’t do anything to ‘em,” I say firmly. “I haven’t been talkin’ to ‘em.”  
  
He snorts, “That’s probably the problem then, ya dumbshit.”  
  
I shrug, “Well it ain’t like I got anythin’ to say to ‘em.” Ugh. Being around my family just makes that fucking accent jump out full force, but I’ve given up on trying to repress it. It just takes too much energy. It usually just disappears once I’m back to talking with someone else, so I try to just accept it. But damn do I hate it. It just screams to everyone in this piss-ant town that I’m a McCormick. It’s definitely not a name that anyone in their right mind would want to be associated with, that’s for sure.  
  
“All they ever fight ‘bout anymore is money and you, Ken,” Karen says quietly.  
  
I look over and down at her and take a deep breath. I wish I could be Mysterion again. Just grab her and whisk her away to somewhere where she doesn’t have to deal with this bullshit. But I know better. McCormicks always end up migrating back to each other. Kevin initially moved out to California, but ended up coming back to Colorado within six months after his girlfriend left him. He’d had the foresight to not come back into this Hellhole of a house, but he moved close enough that he could come see myself and Karen every few weeks. It was probably the best way to do things, we get along fairly well now that I’m not watching him trying to outdrink our father. We have our own silent pact: Don’t hurt Karen, don’t get hurt. I guess she’s just always been our little peace-keeper, whether she knows it or not.  
  
“I’m sorry,” I finally work out half-heartedly, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. I know just as well as they do, though: You can’t stop our parents from arguing. Once they pick a topic, it’ll be their main debate point for years to come. It usually bounces between money, alcohol, and losing jobs, but once in awhile you’ll get a special little new topic. Apparently I have the ‘distinguished honor’ of being said topic. Lucky me.  
  
Kevin sighs, ripping off his baseball cap and running his fingers through his brown hair. “Ya _sure_ ya don’t wanna come room with me, guys?”  
  
“Can’t, Dude,” I say softly. “Karen has t’ go t’ school and I ain’t leavin’ her here by herself.”  
  
She scoffs indignantly beside me, “I don’t ‘have’ t’ do anythin’, Ken.”  
  
We both look at her sternly. “Oh yes ya do,” I argue. “Ya wanna grow up and be like them?” I gesture my thumb towards my door. She sulks a bit, her lips forming into a cute little pout. “Ya gotta make the most of yerself and git outta here quick as a lick, ya got it?”  
  
“You two never let me do what I want,” she pouts more, staring at my far wall.  
  
Kevin chuckles, “Trust me, Kar, it ain’t fun bein’ a high school drop out. Jobs are hard as hell t’ find without yer fancy piece of paper,” he rolls his eyes. I snort a bit. Kevin always told me dropping out was the best decision of his life. That is until his friends graduated and moved on and he seemed to be permanently stuck treading water. I can never forget the day he came home drunk as hell and started screaming at me to do my homework. Made me swear on the moon and Karen that I’d do my damnedest to make it all the way through high school. I guess it’s the only reason I haven’t stopped going altogether. I mean, I’m gonna be dead in about a year anyway, so I don’t see how having a ‘fancy piece of paper’ is going to get me very far. But when I swear on something, I fuckin’ mean it, so I guess I’m stuck still riding through the hell that is South Park High for his sake. Not to mention I don’t want to set another bad example for Karen. She needs to make it. I don’t care if she’s the only McCormick to ever make it, but she definitely needs to have the best life that she possibly can.  
  
“Just a few more years,” I say to Karen, ruffling her hair a bit, working my finger through a knot. “Ya have fun with Kev?”  
  
She nods, “We got us some ice cream with actual candy in it!” she grins widely.  
  
“Nice,” I nod.  
  
“Yer always welcome t’ come along, Ken,” Kevin says cooly. He does this every time he takes her out. I just wave at him dismissively. I know that he’s struggling financially on his own, he doesn’t need to be wasting four dollars on his nearly eighteen year old brother just to buy him some damn ice cream. Karen? She deserves it. Me? I get my treats from Kyle, and I’m perfectly content to let it stay that way until it’s finally my time to go.  
  
I look over, seeing him staring at me concernedly. “What?”  
  
He shakes himself out of it a bit and shrugs. “Ma called me a few days ago...”  
  
“Okay?” I raise my brow. It’s not like Kevin to be goddamn cryptic.  
  
He sighs, “She said that you ain’t been actin’ like yerself lately.”  
  
I narrow my eyes in confusion. “What? I’ve been hangin’ ‘round my room keepin’ to myself. I’ve been like that fer years!”  
  
“That’s what I said,” he nods. “But she says somethin’ feels...off about ya,” he winces. “Ya feelin’ okay?”  
  
I shrug a bit, “I’m here, ain’t I?” That back part of me wants to scream what’s been going on, but I know where it’ll get me: Absolutely nowhere. Par for the course.  
  
“But ya _have_ been actin’ different, Ken!” Karen insists. I look down at her in shock as she continues on, “You’ve been so quiet ‘n thoughtful lately. It ain’t like ya to be like that,” she says firmly.  
  
“Is somethin’ goin’ on?” Kevin raises his brow.  
  
I look between the two of them and blink rapidly. I have no idea what the hell Karen’s talking about. I’ve been the same as always: Just trying to avoid our parents and fucking survive. “I ain’t never been one t’ talk much,” I try to shrug dismissively, though a worrying pit is trying to worm its way down into my stomach. _Have_ I been acting differently? I sure as fuck don’t feel like I have been. Still angry and bitching to myself, still moping around wishing someone would fucking notice me now and again without it being a goddamn tearful thank you or some shit...I sigh and scratch through my hair, feeling the both of them staring at me intently.  
  
“Yer sure yer okay?” Karen asks carefully.  
  
I nod briskly. Too briskly. Maybe. I don’t know. I’m over-thinking things. I don’t know why this is trying to throw me into a panic. Maybe I just don’t want to add more stress to the already ridiculously tumultuous life that the three of us have been forced to wade through. Maybe I just don’t like this kind of attention. Maybe...I don’t fucking know, but I don’t like seeing Karen concerned for me. “I’m fine, Kiddo,” I force myself to smile at her. “Now go git some sleep, it’s past yer bedtime,” I wave her off. She raises her brow suspiciously but nods in compliance.  
  
“Kay...g’night, Guys,” she waves a bit, clambering off my mattress and heading towards the door. She steals one last glance at me and my chest hitches with pain at her hazel eyes brimming with worry. Myself and Kevin watch as she walks out and closes the door behind her before we look at each other again.  
  
“Ya sure yer okay?” he repeats Karen’s words.  
  
“Peachy,” I shrug. “Just don’t wanna deal with shit, ya know how it is.”  
  
“Hm,” he muses, nodding along just a bit. “Well, I actually talked to Ma ‘bout somethin’ else, too...” he sighs. “I’m sure ya can tell that Pa’s driving her t’ the edge.”  
  
“Ain’t nothin’ new ‘bout that,” I roll my eyes. How she hasn’t packed up and left yet I’ll never know. Lord knows she’s threatened to enough throughout the years. I really wish for her sake she would. I wish she’d go and take Karen with her somewhere safe. It’d kill me not to see the both of them all the time, but if they were happy, I’d learn to cope.  
  
“She needs yer help, Ken,” he says quietly. “Kar’s too young and I ain’t around as much no more. Ya gotta step up ‘n help her.”  
  
I blink at him before narrowing my eyes. “The fuck do ya expect me to do?” Me intervening has one outcome: Dad beats the shit out of me. And it isn’t like it wears him down any. He finishes with me and goes after the girls.  
  
“I’m...gonna do what I can from my end,” Kevin says slowly. “But with my work schedule and all that...it’s hard, Bro.”  
  
I nod, “Well at least ya _have_ a job unlike a certain father of ours,” I roll my eyes.  
  
He snorts a bit, “But it ain’t enough t’ git the three of ya outta here.”  
  
“I ain’t yer’s to rescue,” I say dryly. “But if ya can save the girls, do so. Ain’t much I can do anyway. Dad’s a piece of shit and there ain’t nothin’ I can do about it. Gotta just roll with the punches like with the rest of the world,” I mutter.  
  
He sighs tiredly, ruffling my hair a bit. “Ken, ya gotta let go of yer teen angst. Yer way too old for it now.”  
  
I look at him and raise my brow. “Ya want me t’ drink it away like you and Pops?”  
  
He frowns deeply, “No. I don’t wantcha to do that. But-” he stops as a particularly loud scream from out father echoes through the house and we both instinctually flinch back into the wall. We hear angry footsteps and the front door slamming shut and slink a bit in relief. He’s going out to the bar, he won’t be back for hours. And he’ll be drunk enough he’ll just pass out on the couch. It’s sad that those were the nights we looked forward to the most as kids. It meant he’d be in too much of a stupor to be able to beat any of us; It was our saving grace. Kev sighs again and shakes his head. “Ken...don’t be him,” he says softly, almost like he’s _pleading_.  
  
“Whaddya mean? I ain’t gonna hit nobody,” I reply lowly, my eyes trained on my door.  
  
“I mean don’t be a stuck up jerk-off who thinks the world is out t’ git him,” he shakes me a bit to make me look over at him. I nearly recoil at his face. He looks determined, like the time he told me he’d beat the shit out of me if I hit on his best friend again when I was sixteen. Surprisingly he didn’t give a shit that I was hitting on his _male_ best friend, but he was heavily concerned with the fact that this friend was part of a meth den. He didn’t want me involved in that shit so he warned me to stay the fuck away lest I be traded for fucking drugs. Kev’s an asshole like myself, there’s no denying it, but he does have mine and Karen’s best interests at heart in the long run. When he’s telling either of us something, we listen. He’s the closest thing to a father that the two of us really have at this point. “Ken, the world _ain’t_ that bad,” he says firmly. “Ya gotta...pull yerself out of whatever the fuck funk yer in and realize that Ma needs ya right now, Kar does, and I do. It’s gotta be the four of us against him, Ken, or we all lose,” he scowls. “Can ya promise me you’ll try?”  
  
I stare at him for an obscene amount of time, just blinking slowly and letting his words soak into my skin. He thinks what everyone else does: That I’m just an apathetic asshole. That I don’t care one way or the other what happens to the people around me. I suppose a part of that is true, but the three of them, Stan, and Kyle are people I’d fight to the fuckin’ ends of the Earth for. They always have been, even when they’re on my goddamn last nerve as most of them so often are. He’s still staring at me expectantly, so I gulp and nod a bit. “Yeah...I-I’ll try.”  
  
He smiles a bit and I wince at his yellowed teeth as he pats my shoulder. I cringe at another slash going through my chest, taking an inconspicuous long breath. “I know ya can do it, Ken,” he beams. “I fucked up, but yer gonna make it, and Kar’s gonna make it further than you. We’re all gonna git outta here one day.”  
  
I just nod slowly, feeling his hand still gripping around my shoulder and sighing to myself. A disgusting realization is beginning to dawn on me: I am definitely the product of Stuart and Carol McCormick. I do nothing but yell, stew, get violent when cornered, and find comfort in alcohol. I alienate myself at every chance I get, I absolutely refuse to get the help I know I need. Most of all: I don’t tend to care how my actions affect everyone around me. I couldn’t care less if I kick a rock into the street and it punctures someone’s tire. So long as the car doesn’t swerve out of control and hit me, then it’s just another ordinary day. I don’t want to be that. I don’t _want_ to be like the two of them: Staving off my death with so much fucking rage, lashing out at those closest to me. I’ve done a fairly decent job at not full-on losing it, especially considering my circumstance, but I consistently want to. Maybe it’s a genetics thing. Maybe I’m just a pathetic product of my environment. I don’t know, and frankly, I don’t want to know.  
  
All I do know is that Kevin’s right. I only have a little under a year left, and there’s people who need me in that short amount of time. I don’t want to be my father, I don’t want to break my mother. All I want is to get through my remaining days, maybe leave such a good impression that people will actually be devastated by losing me. I can’t fix my family the way I mended our tableware. No amount of glue and patience could ever do that. What I do have is time and an actual _reason_ to try to give a shit about what’s happening around me. Maybe I can begin slowly putting together pieces and my family will follow suit after I’m gone, become mended in their joined loss. A guy can hope.  
  
I think it’s becoming more and more sickeningly obvious as I sit on my stained mattress with my brother smiling at me proudly: This feather ordeal may be a good change for me after all.


	8. Day 95 - December 1st

  
The first day of December always seems to bring out the bitterness in people. I guess because Thanksgiving is over and now you’re more than aware that winter has officially made headway, and in South Park, winter lasts for what seems to be goddamn eternity. Myself? I’m usually acting the same. After all, my family’s idea of a ‘fancy’ Thanksgiving meal is buying processed deli meat turkey and eating it on stale bread. However, we did have our saving grace, at least myself, Kevin, and Karen. Kyle managed to get us all invited over for the feast his family can never finish along with Stan’s family. Their moms sent the three of us home with arms overloaded with leftovers and, for once, the McCormick’s have a fridge full of food. Maybe that’s why things seem just a tad bit better. I don’t typically join the winter funk, and it makes it seem like I’m the most chipper student of them all walking out the doors of school into the frigid blast of air. I know it’s far from the truth, but it’s nice to pretend I can be optimistic when compared to the average person.

“Ken!” I hear from behind me. I turn and see Kyle bustling towards me, shoving people out of his way with an arm full of textbooks. I chuckle a bit at his frustrated face. When December starts, Kyle goes into full blown study mode, it never fails. Lugging every book to and from school every day because, as he puts it, ‘you can never be too prepared’. Watching him struggling to support the weight, however, seems to contradict his strategy. He finally makes it over to me and I hold the door open for him, watching amusedly as he shivers stepping out of the furnaced building into a barrage of dusting snow. He groans, shaking his head before turning to me and smiling. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” I raise my brow. “You’re gonna give yourself a hernia one of these days, ya know,” I say, starting to step off towards home with Kyle by my side.

He scoffs a bit, “You say that every year.”

“And I _mean_ it every year,” I snort, rolling my eyes a bit. He just chuckles a bit, shifting his weight around and trying to find a better balance. I shake my head, grabbing the top three books from his pile and tucking them under my arm. “There. Now you won’t be carrying the combined weight of Cartman,” I smirk.

He frowns a bit, “I am perfectly capable of carrying my own shit, Ken.”

“Didn’t seem like it to me,” I sing a bit, putting the books under my arm furthest from him when he tries to grab at them. “Calm down, Broflovski, I won’t tell anyone that I’m your dashing hero,” I flutter my eyelids teasingly.

“Dashing. Right,” he rolls his eyes, the color bursting back into his face. He sighs, giving up on his endeavor to grab his textbooks as we continue moving along down the sidewalk. I can’t help but sneak a few glances at him. Kyle’s practically been glued to my side the last few months. I won’t lie, I don’t know how to feel about it. I’ve always enjoyed his company, but it seems like I’m becoming his middle school science fair project. I don’t know if he knows it, but I catch him staring at me all the damn time. He’s practically studying me, occasionally coming up and complimenting me for something that I did to earn a feather. It’s been driving me nuts. I keep expecting to wake up from sleep and find him hovering over my bed with a notepad and a tape recorder like he’s on a goddamn safari.

I hear him finishing something while lost in my scrutinizing and shake myself out of it. “Sorry, what?”

He looks at me with a raised brow. “Dude, stop spacing out. You never hear me,” he chuckles. “Anyway, I said did you hear what Stan and Cartman did?”

“No?”

He snorts, “The idiots decided it’d be a great idea to put super glue on their algebra teacher’s chair. They earned themselves two weeks in detention.”

“Well that explains why your boyfriend isn’t hanging off of you right now,” I tease.

“Stan’s not my boyfriend!” he practically squeaks, looking at me with worried eyes. I cock my head at him, completely bewildered by his reaction. He catches himself and clears his throat. “Don’t...don’t be like Fatass, Ken,” he manages to mutter out a lecturing tone, turning his eyes back to the sidewalk and biting his lip hard.

He’s acting _way_ too oversensitive. I know him, he doesn’t freak out so much over just anything. “Ky, is something wrong?”

He shakes his head briskly. “No, no why would anything be wrong?”

I can’t help myself and scoff, “Because you’re acting like you’re on your goddamn period.”

He straightens up and looks at me again, a familiar frustrated spark going through his green eyes. “Nothing is wrong, Kenny,” he says firmly. “Just...just been a weird day, that’s all...” his shoulders droop again and he lets out a long breath. I’m about to try to prod some more out of him before a sudden “So what’s up with you?” impedes on my interrogation. Oh well. Kyle can be like a goddamn Fort Knox safe when he wants to be, and I really don’t have the energy to try to pick at him too much.

I shrug, “Nothin’ really. Same old shit, ya know.”

“Are um...are you sure?” he winces a bit.

I raise my brow, “Yeessss?” He looks thoughtfully at me for a moment before turning back towards the front of us and shaking his hair out of his eyes. This is driving me crazy. Kyle has always been blunt and to the point. This whole ‘dancing on glass shards around me’ thing is really starting to irk on my last nerve. I have enough to deal with between my family and my whole trying to die thing. The last thing I need is to have Kyle trying to make me be goddamn Robert Langdon or some shit. That stops now. He doesn’t have Stan to turn the attention to, he can’t play ‘avoid the topic’ very well when it’s one-on-one. He wants to study me? Well he’s about to receive the same damn treatment. “You sure everything’s okay with you?” I ask cooly, looking at his calculus textbook as though I find it very interesting. “I mean, what with you staring at me all the time and clinging to my side like you’re a parasite and whatnot I feel like something’s bothering you.”

I don’t look up but I can just _feel_ his face lit up rosily against the pale snow in the background. I hear him stammering a few times, completely out of Kyle’s character. Something’s going on and I want to figure out just what the fuck it is. “I-is it such a fucking crime to hang out with your friend?” he asks finally, probably a lot less confidently than he was going for.

“No, it’s not,” I answer dryly, looking over at him to see his eyes boring down into the sidewalk. “But it’s unusual for you. You’re usually too busy with your nose shoved into your damn study guides to pay much attention to me.”

“You act like I do nothing but ignore you,” he sighs tiredly, still refusing to look at me. I notice his eyes drooping sadly and my confusion is just on a constant uprising at this point.

I shake my head. “I didn’t say that. It’s just...it’s been more than usual lately. Why is that?”

He seems to just slink into himself, clutching his remaining books to his chest like protecting a precious doll. “I...I dunno,” he murmurs. “I’m just...curious,” he cringes.

“About...?”

He finally looks up at me, eyes scanning over my face. He’s trying to read me again and I’m about to slam the novel into his face if he doesn’t just fucking answer me. “You’ve been acting so different these past few months,” he says quietly. “A-and I’m just...wondering why that is.”

I blink at him. Seriously? So Karen and Kyle, the only two people I really open up to about _anything ever_ , have both come to this conclusion? Apparently I’m not nearly as proficient at hiding myself as I once thought. I clear my throat, “Whaddya mean?”

He shrugs, “Well, you’re usually so quiet. But you’ve been talking to us a lot more,” he says, his eyes dancing a little, I notice. “You actually _tell_ us what’s going on as opposed to just brushing it off and walking away...A-and I’ve seen you being so...” he looks up a bit for a moment in thought. “So _nice_.”

I can feel my own face heating up and reach up to yank up my hood. I really don’t want him to see me mirroring himself right now. Stan pukes, Kyle blushes, Cartman yells, and I hide. That’s just how it’s supposed to be. “What? You sayin’ I wasn’t nice before?” I force out. If there’s anything that gets Kyle to back down, it’s making it seem like _he’s_ the problem. It’s gotten me out of many a tight spot with him before when he changes the subject on a dime so he can mull over everything privately.

“Not so openly,” he hastily spits out in embarrassment. “Ken, I told you _before_ that I think you’re a good guy, don’t try to make it sound like I’m calling you a jackass or something.”

Well so much for my theory.

I kind of want to just run with that idea and turn this all around, make him feel like shit and run to my house to hide. But stealing a quick glance at him through my peripheral...there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to leave him here with such a hurt look on his face. “I’m...a born-again Christian?” I try with an awkward shrug.

“Bullshit. I saw you hitting on that girl from our history class,” he mumbles, sounding disappointed. I steal another glance at his fallen face and sigh exhaustedly. My plan was just to go home and hide in my room until Karen got home, get my damn feather, and go to bed. This was definitely _not_ on my agenda.

“Well her twin brother is already dating so I went for second best,” I reply as casually as I can manage.

He looks up at me in surprise. “Wait are you serious?”

“Yeah. Her brother’s been with the same chick for-”

“No, you idiot, I mean you hitting on a guy,” he raises his brow. I look back at his dumbfounded expression and shrug.

“Hot people are hot people, Dude.” He tongues over his lips thoughtfully, nodding and turning back towards the front. “Why? Got a problem with that?”

“No,” he shakes his head, chuckling softly. “Trust me...that is the _furthest_ thing from a problem.” I’m once again about to question his weird reaction before he cuts me off again. “Anyway, sorry I’ve been...clingy,” he winces. “I just...wanted to make sure that you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Kyle,” I reply quietly. I won’t lie, it _is_ kind of nice having someone who notices this kind of stuff and is looking out for me. It’s definitely a rare occurrence what with Kevin living away from home and Karen being so much younger than I am. “But why do you care how I act?”

He shrugs as we manage to make our way down the never-ending sidewalk from the school and round the corner heading towards our neighborhoods. “We’re friends, Ken. I’m supposed to care about that kind of crap.”

“You don’t care when Stan or Cartman is doing somethin’ nice,” I point out.

He looks at me like I’m stupid. “Cartman? Nice? Please. And I’m Her Royal Majesty the Queen.”

“Well lemme bow down here, Princess,” I give a small one and laugh at his face contorting into a pout. “He’s nice to a few chicks. Like, genuinely,” I shrug.

He shudders, “Remind me if we get invited to his wedding to grab a handful of sympathy cards and a shit-ton of Xanax for the future Mrs. Eric Cartman.”

 I burst out laughing a bit. “Oh? And whaddya think he’d do for the future Mrs. Kyle Broflovski?” I’m still chuckling before it dies down at Kyle’s heavy silence. I blink a bit at him. “Kyle?”

“What?”

“Uh, you hear me?”

He shrugs, “Yeah. I heard you. I don’t know how to answer it is all.” I nod slowly. No witty retort? No sarcastic quip launching into a full-out verbal assault against Cartman? Something here doesn’t feel right. “Anyway,” he continues, sounding a tad awkward in my opinion. “Stan’s always been nice to people. Ya know, him not wanting to that cliche popular douche,” he chuckles. “And I really couldn’t give less than two shits about what Fatass does when he’s not making it his life mission to torture me.” He looks back up at me and gives a small head cock. “Does it bother you that I noticed?”

“Not...really...” I answer hesitantly. I’m not sure to be completely honest. “Does it weird you out that I’m just trying to not be a dickhead?” I try to deflect it back onto him.

He stares at me for a moment before his lips curl up and he laughs softly. “No. I like that the old Kenny’s back.”

I blink at him a bit and narrow my eyes. There he goes again with the ‘old’ Kenny talk. “What uh...whaddya mean?”

“Well...it’s not unnerving to talk to you anymore. You don’t seem quite as apt to punch in my face,” he winces a bit.

I gulp down some dry air and look around worriedly, glad for the safety of my hood. I guess I really _am_ obvious with my emotions. “I was never going to punch in your face,” I murmur. Did I fantasize about it? Of freakin’ course. But I would never do that unless there was a _damn_ good reason. God being a jackass has never constituted as a strong enough reason to full-out assault my friends, though I have certainly traipsed in that direction quite a few times.

“I know you wouldn’t,” Kyle replies softly. “You’ve never been a violent person...but something just always seemed to be bothering you.” I have to bite my lip and shake my head a bit to myself. Screaming the reasons to Kyle wouldn’t do a damn thing. But...he did notice. That’s _something_ in his favor I suppose, not to mention my own. “I didn’t want to push you on it, though,” he continues. “But for so _long_ I just felt like...like you didn’t care about us, ya know? You’d hang out with us and joke around or whatever, but something just always felt off. And...it feels like most of that’s kind of fallen to the wayside.”

I look over, seeing him biting his lip and staring at the ground nervously. I know that look. He thinks he fucked up. He thinks I’m going to hate him for telling me the truth. Won’t lie, I’ve been _wanting_ the fucking truth for so long that hearing it now is falling atop of me like a goddamn landslide. I really don’t know how to handle this. Kyle and I haven’t had a full-blown ‘feelings’ talk since we were thirteen at least. His life and my deaths seemed to just get in the way of all that. “How long have you felt like that?” I manage to ask, keeping my building emotion pressed down as well as I can.

He’s silent for a moment, nothing but the sound of the sharp wind slamming into our reddened ears. “A few years,” he finally admits.

I take a deep breath, feeling a torrent of guilt and a bit of anger at his falsehood when it came to being my friend beginning to build somewhere deep within me. “Then why did you keep hanging out with me?”

He looks over at me, color slashing back through his cheeks and over his nose. “I-I just...figured you needed a friend. That’s all,” he laughs a bit awkwardly, letting it die out into the snowflakes beginning to billow around us. We head down the sidewalk, making it to the front of my house. I feel awful. The bitterness is dying off and the guilt is starting to eat away at me like acid. Kyle was trying to be my friend and I was sitting off in dreamland wondering the easiest way to slam his head against something hard to make him remember just what it was I could do. I didn’t even notice that he felt so tensed around me. And I have absolutely _no_ doubts that Stan and Cartman only continued to deal with me because of him. Stan always went with Kyle’s judgement, and Cartman could never pass up ditching his go-to victim. I guess they stayed with me through default. The redhead in front of me was the only one willing to deal with my bullshit, and I had no idea. I just kept going through the motions and refused to get closer to the three of them than I already was; Thinking that they didn’t care one way or the other how I was, just so long as I was there to be a good distraction or whatever for their own mundane lives.

I guess that was just poor judgement on my part.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, only a part of me fibbing. He looks up at me and smiles.

“Don’t be,” he says softly, grabbing his books from my arm and clumsily managing to toss them onto his stack. “We’re teenagers. We’re all allowed to go through that angsty period.”

“You didn’t,” I quirk my brow.

He chuckles humorlessly. “You have no idea, Ken...” he trails off a bit and smiles at me again, but with a sad tint over it. “If you want me to back off, I will.”

 “No, no,” I shake my head. “It’s fine, Kyle. It really is.” And I mean it.

He nods a bit, “It’s nice to have the real Kenny back,” he says quietly with another real grin before turning on his heel and continuing down the way towards his house. I gasp and clutch my hand to my chest as another barb strikes down through me. I can’t help myself, keeping my eyes on my friend as he continues onwards, not sparing me another glance. I keep watching after him until after he’s bounded down over the small hill and out of my sight.


	9. Day 154 - January 29th

As I wake up to a muted sunrise shimmering into my room, I can’t help but take a contented breath. My dreams have been the same since I struck my deal with Damien: Full of feathers, dust, and the occasional appearance from Kyle. It’s been a welcome reprieve from my dreams being filled to the brim with blood and muddled fear, that’s for sure. I sit up and stretch a bit, glancing at my calendar. A Sunday, which means I’ll need to find something to do to earn my barb of the day. That’s fine by me, Kyle is my easy target anymore. Showing up and surprising him at his house now and again the last few months has been the easiest way for me to get my deed done. Plus I always walk out of there with a full stomach and the heat from Kyle’s shower still radiating off me, so it works out for everyone.  
  
I hop out of bed and start pulling on clothes, letting my mind wander as to what my day will be full of. I _could_ study for that history test...but then again Kyle sits next to me in the damn class and I usually just cheat off of his paper. No use in trying too hard for something that doesn’t require any effort. I manage to slip on a t-shirt before my ears perk to an all-too-familiar sound: My mom crying.  
  
I nearly ignore it and try to go about my day before I notice something odd: It’s not the same as usual. There’s desperation lingering in it that I haven’t heard before. My entire chest clutches in worry and I rush out of my bedroom, speeding down the hallway and following the increasing decibels of her tears, winding up in the kitchen. I nearly fall over as my socks slip on something, looking down and feeling my stomach lurch in nausea at a clear puddle of blood. I look over past the table, seeing Mom curled up against the cabinets huddled into herself and sobbing.  
  
“Oh, Jesus, Ma,” I say worriedly, hurrying over beside her. I kneel down next to her and she looks up at me, her eyes completely bloodshot.   
  
“K-Kenny...” she sniffles. “Go to...g-go to your...” she trails off, her voice ending in a broken crack.  
  
“I ain’t goin’ to my room,” I say firmly. I’m not dealing with this. Not now. That’s always been her way to keep us kids out of Dad’s line of fire: sending us to the other end of the house trying to take the brunt for herself. I can’t stand seeing herself do this over and over again, and I’m not going to run off and hide in my closet like little six year old me did all the time. Not when she’s messed up like she is now. “C’mon,” I say gently, grasping her arms and pulling them off her face. I feel absolutely nothing but _rage_. A clear black eye is starting under her brow, her lip is gashing something fierce, there’s a large bruise just beginning to tinge on her cheekbone.   
  
I’m going to _kill_ that fucker I swear to God.  
  
I manage to beat down my anger and focus on her, pulling her up onto her feet and leading her to our table. I kick a chair out and set her down in it. “Wait here,” I say, hurrying off back to my room. I take an angry breath, ripping open my closet and reaching around my top shelf until I hit a cloth bag and snag it down. I had bought a first aid kit months ago when Kevin came home from a goddamn bar brawl torn up something nasty. I guess for a family in our circumstance, it really should have been a no-brainer to have a surplus lying around.  
  
I scurry back to the kitchen, finding Mom staring down at the floor, her shoulders heaving in sobs. I lick over my lips and sigh, walking over to the sink, wetting a washcloth and letting the water cascading down overshadow her cries for a moment. I _need_ this moment. My mom is by no means a saint. She’s a pill-popping, alcohol-drowning mess that no one would want to admit they’re related to...But she’s the only parental figure I really have that’s actually linked to me via blood. Stan, Kyle, and even Cartman’s moms can fill the void from time to time, but coming home to hear my mom just say hello to me now and again was a nice treat that I often tried to indulge in. She’s no model citizen, but she stepped in-between my father and us kids way too much for me to just pretend she’s as much of a shit bag as he is.  
  
I finally turn off the water, wringing the rag and cringing at her continued sniffles. I walk over to her chair and kneel down in front of her, tossing the kit at my feet beside me. I try to find words, unable to as I watch the woman who gave life to me breaking into tiny pieces. Reaching up with my rag, I gently wipe it across her busted lip, trying to clean up what I can. As I work, look over her body and sigh, finding a large gash in her leg. I’m guessing that’s where the puddle came from.  
  
I look up as she pushes the rag from her face and stares down at me sadly. “Kenny, you ain’t gotta-”  
  
“Yes, I do,” I cut her off, taking the rag and gently rubbing it over her leg. “Ma, what happened?” I ask softly. I know it was Dad, but I should at least have the reason he did this before I start stabbing him.  
  
“H-he left,” she whispers, hiding her eyes in her hands. I look up, my face dropping as I realize how her fingernails are all jagged and broken from fighting off my dad, how she has gray speckles lying within her hair. I wonder if it was always like that. I wonder if she and my dad ever _really_ loved each other...It’s terrifying in a way, to imagine that they did. Turning on the person you love in such a horrible way just seems like the worst possible scenario on Earth. The back part of my mind can’t help but wonder if it was all a pregnancy thing, but I shake off my wonderings. Other matters are a little too pertinent to want to know where my parents fell into each other right now.  
  
“Whaddya mean left?” I blink. It’s way too early for the bars to be open.  
  
She sniffles and I pull down the washrag, opening my kit and glancing up at her every so often as I gather materials. She’s looking up at the ceiling, her mouth fumbling a bit like a guppy waiting for the hook. “He...packed a bag...took his clothes...” she trails off again.  
  
I freeze, looking at her with wide eyes. Is she serious? Is he really _gone_? “A-are you...are ya sure he...” I can’t find the words. I’m so overrun with conflicting emotions right now. Pure and utter _joy_ that he could possibly be out of my life forever. Rage at the condition he left Mom in. And most of all, just pure bafflement. He never threatened to leave, that was Mom’s schtick. And he _certainly_ never packed a bag and walked out.  
  
“There’s...another woman...” she says bitterly, her fingers twisting into her hair. I reach up and untangle them, not wanting her to hurt herself even further. I lead them down to the edges of her chair, letting her tighten her grip around that instead. A part of me is in complete shock, the other isn’t really all that surprised. Dad finding some whore sounds right in his ballpark. I grab an antiseptic wipe and slowly rub it over her leg wound, listening to her hiss and patting her knee sympathetically.  
  
“Did ya kick him out or did he leave on his own?” I inquire, refusing to raise my eyes to hers.  
  
She sniffles, her hands clenching and unclenching methodically around the chair, and I can’t help but think of Kyle and his apples. “He left,” she finally works out defeatedly. “Just...just came home a few hours ago ‘n...told me that was it,” she slumps a bit in her chair.  
  
“Why’d he hit ya? You try to stop him?” I ask, grating my lip as I begin to fumble with a roll of gauze and my scissors.  
  
“No,” she whispers. “I-I told ‘im...I told ‘im good. T’ git outta my house ‘n let that whore deal with his shit.”  
  
I nod, “Good response. I woulda said the same.” I look up at her and try to give her a smile. She attempts one back before it falters.  
  
“He just...lost it,” she says blankly.  
  
I sigh, “Not surprisin’, Ma. He tends t’ do that, ya know.”  
  
“I know, I know,” she nods solemnly. I sigh again, finishing wrapping around her leg and clipping it off. My promise to Kevin starts ringing through my ears and I chuckle under my breath to myself. Guess that shithead got through to me after all. Her voice nearly startles me as I start putting things back into the case. “Kenny?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
She stares down at me, grating her busted lip gently. I get to my feet, tossing my case on the table and grabbing a cold-pack from the bottom. “Do ya...do ya hate me? For lettin’ ‘im stay so...” her body just slinks guiltily.  
  
I stare at her, mindlessly crushing the pack in my hand. How do I even respond to that? I do hate a part of her. I really _do_. She shoulda picked us kids up and ran off long ago. She should’ve never gotten herself hooked on pills to the point where if she’s not tweaking out, she can’t function. She _never_ should have taken Stuart McCormick’s fucking name. But...I’m not an idiot. I went through the same health class bullshit that everyone does. Abusive relationships are ones you can’t run from all the time. Sometimes you’re just trapped. But regardless, she should have called for help, she should have told us kids that it’d be all right. She should have been a _mother_ above all else. Not just a victim constantly under the influence. My long silence is getting to her, her face dropping further and further with each moment I let go unbroken. “No, I don’t hate you,” I lie a bit. “I just wish you woulda...” I sigh, finishing cracking the pack and handing it to her.   
  
She stares at me silently, pressing it up against her cheek and taking a long, heavy breath. “Kenny...I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “You ‘n yer brother ‘n sister...ya didn’t deserve this.”  
  
I shrug, closing and zipping up my case, grabbing the bloodied washrag and walking over to the puddle, cleaning it off the floor as best I can. I keep my eyes down on my work, meticulously scrubbing. “No, we didn’t,” I finally manage to murmur. I hear her take a shuddery breath and bite my cheek. I finish wiping off the blood, staring at a dirtied reflection of myself in the scuffed beige tile. It’s so distorted and disgusting, like everything else in this goddamn house. I finally pick myself up and toss the rag over into the sink, washing my hands as best I can. I watch remnants of her blood flowing down the drain and my shoulders sink. This isn’t the kind of life _anyone_ should be living.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” she repeats blankly.  
  
I take a deep breath, reminding myself that this is my mother above all else. Yes, she’s a mess. Yes, mine and my siblings’ lives have been pure hell because of her inability to stand up for herself. And yes, she hasn’t _acted_ motherly to me. But she is _still_ my mom. And I love her, even if it’s buried under eighteen years of bitterness and hate. I turn around from the sink and walk in front of her, grabbing another chair and sitting down facing her. “He’s a piece ‘a shit,” I say firmly. “Ya deserve better, Ma.”  
  
She nods slowly. “You _kids_ deserve better.”  
  
I shrug, “Well, too late for Kev ‘n me...but Karen still needs ya.”  
  
“It ain’t _ever_ too late to make a change, Ken,” she says. I chuckle a bit to myself again. I think that’s the first motherly thing she’s said to me in years. I just shake my head, getting up out of the chair again and heading to the fridge. I can feel her watching me as I reach into the far back, hidden behind Dad’s Pabst and grabbing a couple Dr. Peppers that Kyle gave to me. I walk back over and hand her one and she stares at it like I just handed her foreign currency.  
  
“Ya don’t need t’ get hammered this early,” I say pointedly, opening my soda and taking a long drink.   
  
“Yer right,” she whispers, quietly popping her can open and taking her own sip, tonguing over her lips. She laughs quietly, “Been a long time since I had pop, I’ll tell ya.”  
  
“Well...maybe it’s time t’ get back to that,” I shrug. “Toss out everythin’ that reminds ya of that sack of shit, includin’ the booze.” I highly doubt it’ll work, but hell, it’s worth a shot.  
  
She stares at me a bit, her head cocking slowly to the side. “Somethin’...somethin’ about ya is so different, Ken.”  
  
I have to resist rolling my eyes. Not this again. “I ain’t different, Ma,” I easily parry. “Yer just sober fer once so ya can see what I’m really like.”  
  
Her face drops embarrassedly and she stares at her soda, stroking her finger along the aluminum and leaning her cheek deeper into the cold-pack. “I know I ain’t been a good mom.”  
  
I sigh, taking another sip and nodding a bit. “No, ya ain’t...but ya did what ya could with _him_ runnin’ the house. I don’t blame ya for what he did, but ya gotta know that you ain’t handlin’ the problem well.”  
  
“I know,” she agrees. “Trust me, Sheila ‘n Sharon love t’ tell me how t’ be a mom,” she rolls her eyes. I can’t help but snort. She’s always considered Kyle and Stan’s moms to just be too far up their own asses when it came to being mothers. She always thought that they believed their methods were perfect regardless of the fact that Sharon and Randy divorced time and again and Sheila had a knack for starting literal wars.  
  
“They ain’t the best, I’ll give ya that,” I say. “But...they try. They love Ky and Ike and Stan and Shelly. They don’t always do the best but they _try_ ,” I emphasize. “Ma, you ain’t tried to be a mom fer years,” I wince.  
  
Once more, she nods along with me, her eyes scanning over my face and a large sigh escaping her nose. “I miss this,” she says quietly.  
  
I raise my brow. This? What, her bleeding and me cleaning her up? Because that’s _never_ happened before, I work too damn hard to stay out of the goddamn way. “Miss what?”  
  
“This,” she gestures between the both of us tiredly. “Us talkin’. ‘Member how...when ya were a little guy and I’d read ya stories and we’d talk ‘bout yer day?”  
  
I nod, “Yeah. That was before ya decided pills were more important than yer kids.”  
  
“If I could go back and change it, I would,” she admits softly. She leans back in her chair and her eyes go back to the ceiling, shining lightly in our one working light bulb. “Oh, Ken,” she says brokenly. “It was just like with you...”  
  
“What was?” I ask confusedly.  
  
“Watchin’ him walkin’ out...I-it was just like when you said you were leavin’ all that time ago...” she starts sobbing again and I watch in amazement. “I-I didn’t know...what t’ do...” she works out, choking on her cries. She puts down her soda, leaning forward and clasping around my frozen form, crying into my t-shirt. I gulp, putting down my own drink and timidly wrapping my arms around her. I haven’t hugged her in so long. I didn’t know her back was so bony, I didn’t know that she was so _tiny_ under her oversized shirts.   
  
I bite my lip, gently rubbing a hand up her spine. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” I say quietly, my chest burning in guilt. She clings onto me tighter and I flinch at a mark appearing underneath her sobbing face. I gulp a bit, holding onto her just a little tighter.  
  
My eyes wander around the kitchen, unable to continue looking at the broken woman clasping onto me. This house is a disaster. Wallpaper falling down, paint peeling, probably smells to clean people like a literal landfill...I sigh, leaning my head down on hers. My sight flickers to my shoddily repaired platter lying on the counter and I shudder. I can’t fix her. I know I can’t. She says she regrets what she’s done, how she’s raised us kids, but I know her well enough to know that even if the guilt _is_ genuine, she’s not going to concede and make herself better. It’s just not in her personality to do so.  
  
But clinging around her, feeling the essence of a stale home echoing around us, knowing that my father is well and out of the picture, that I may never have to see his abusive, ugly mug again...a part of me is awakening. It’s a part that I haven’t felt in a very long time. For the first time in what seems like an eternity, there’s a small silver lining trying to peak through the cloud that is my life, and it fills me with a muted, but invigorating rush of hope.


	10. Day 185 - March 1st

There was one perk to being ‘immortal’ that I never really realized that I had: I very _rarely_ got sick. I caught the occasional chicken pox or terminal illness, but colds and whatnot were pretty few and far between. However, lying here in bed since Friday night with a goddamn sore throat has shown me that I’m not quite so resistant anymore. My body isn’t _used_ to suffering like this. Being crushed and maimed and whatnot, sure, but a small cold just wants to render me helpless. Karen set me up with hot tea and an old bottle of Vicks we had in the back of our medicine cabinet before heading off to school. Thank God for little worrisome sisters. My tea is long past cold, but it’s still doing more than nothing. I glance over to my clock, my eyes burning. It’s 3:30. Karen won’t be home for another hour, I can work on my damn barb then. Right now my head is just too stuffy to be able to actually formulate a battle plan.  
  
I lie back, propping my head up on my flattened pillows and stare up at the ceiling. These past few months have been...strange. Dad hasn’t called or shown up since he left. The house hasn’t exactly ran like a well-oiled machine with the change in tempo. My mom is desperately trying to figure out where to go from here, Karen is trying to become an adult way too quickly to help her out, and I’m trying to keep her from pulling out her hair. She’s only fourteen, she’s way too young to be attempting to run the household. Kevin’s sparing us some money when he can, allowing us to buy a few things that food stamps and welfare just won’t cover. It’s been pretty nice, I won’t lie. Not living like a king nice, but still, considering the house isn’t filled to the brim with Pabst anymore, it kind of feels like a manor.  
  
I slowly turn as I hear a knock on my door, squinting my eyes at it. I groan in response, way too tired to put actual coherent thought into anything I don’t need to. It pops open and Kyle sticks his head through the door, smiling at me. “Hey, Dude.”  
  
“Hey?” I blink at him. He comes into the room and my eyes linger on a grocery bag dangling from his hand.   
  
“Feelin’ any better? Karen told me you were ‘lying here sounding like a dying whale’,” he smirks.  
  
I can’t help but chuckle and shrug a bit. “I don’t get sick often, so sue me.”  
  
“Don’t tempt me, I’m running low on funds,” he rolls his eyes amusedly before making his way over to me and plopping down beside my mattress. I watch him curiously as he rustles through his grocery back before gently handing me a styrofoam container.  
  
“What’s this?” I ask, relishing in the heat soaking through the cup onto my palms.  
  
“Chicken soup,” he shrugs, tossing a plastic spoon at my chest.  
  
I blink at him confusedly, “Why did you get me soup?”   
  
He shrugs, pulling out a few bottles of Sprite and putting them beside my clock. “You’re sick,” he states dumbly.  
  
“Yeah...and when your Super-Best-Friend is sick, you tell him to stop being such a pussy and throw ice down his shirt,” I chuckle, remembering quite fondly how Stan jumped out of the bed that day, attempted to punch Kyle, and ended up just leaning on him falling asleep. Poor Kyle was stuck under his sniveling, drooling idiocy for hours.  
  
He rolls his eyes, “Well Stan _is_ a pussy when he’s sick. Karen thinks you’re a dying whale? He’s the whole goddamn pod!”  
  
I bust out laughing, cut short by a few coughs. I groan and roll my eyes, sitting up slowly and peeling the lid off of my container. The smell of the broth slams into my one clear nostril and I take a heavy, happy breath. “Thanks, Dude,” I say, taking a spoonful and blowing on it slowly. I can feel him watching me as I genially make my way through bite after bite, soaking in the taste of a hot meal while I can. “So, what’s up?” I ask past a noodle hanging out of my mouth.  
  
He shrugs, “Nothin’ much. Oh, here’s some history bullshit,” he tosses a few papers onto my lap. I look down and raise my brow.  
  
“Hey, Genius, you gave me your homework, too,” I snort at the completed paper atop my own.  
  
He chuckles, “You’re gonna cheat off me anyway, may as well just cut off your absolutely _pathetic_ attempts at sneaking it.”  
  
I smirk and take another bite of soup. “Pathetic, huh?”  
  
“Pretty sure that someone with a magnifying glass in their hand would be more subtle, Dude,” he teases.  
  
I can’t help myself, “Well well well, Kyle, am I turning you into a bad boy? Usually you’d go apeshit over someone ‘depriving themselves of a decent education’,” I wink.  
  
“You wish you had that kind of influence over me, Asshat,” he scoffs. “As shitty of a teacher as we have, I’m surprised more people aren’t coming over and stealing my shit,” he rolls his eyes. I can’t help but laugh at him a bit. Watching Kyle and our teacher getting into debates over events has always been a pleasure, especially since Kyle more often than not wins and I get to see a grown man glaring at him all class. We fall into nothing more than Kyle telling me stories of the day, like Stan’s baseball practice complaints and Cartman attempting to hit up Millie and ending up landing face-first in Butter’s lunch tray. I can’t help but smile at him as he laughs hysterically reliving the memory, giving a pitch-perfect imitation of Cartman hurriedly trying to cover it up before getting angry and yelling at the cafeteria.   
  
I finish off about half my soup and put it on the floor beside of him, grabbing a Sprite and twisting it open. I can’t help but relish in the ability to almost be able to breathe through both nostrils. It’s a beautiful feeling. “So, can I ask ya a question?” I venture.  
  
“Sure,” he nods, reaching back into his bag and tossing me a small package of Day-Quil capsules. I stare at it a bit before shaking my head and tearing it open, struggling to get the goddamn foil seal off.   
  
“Why’d you _actually_ bring me this stuff?” I raise my brow, cursing frantically under my breath at the packaging.   
  
He sits silently for a moment, watching my valiant fight against the plastic oppressor before letting out a long sigh and ripping it out of my hands. I watch him with a pout as he manages to dig his nail under the foil and peel it off. “I dunno,” he shrugs. “Just...thought you could use some stuff to make ya feel better since your house isn’t stockpiled like the rest of ours.”  
  
He looks up at me shyly, handing me the medicine back. I keep my eyes locked in his as I take the pills with a long sip of soda, smacking my lips a bit. My mind vaguely recognizes that they’re chapped to shit, but my focus remains locked on the redhead in front of me. “No...that’s not it,” I conclude after we stare silently for about two long-ass minutes.  
  
He shifts uncomfortably and that red is making its famous comeback. “I-I don’t know, Dude,” he says exhaustively. “Can’t I do something nice without you thinking there’s some kind of master plan behind it all?”  
  
“No, you can’t,” I smirk a bit. “Not to this extent,” I gesture around the goods he brought for me. “You don’t _do_ this shit for everyone, Ky.”  
  
He shrugs awkwardly, “Well...not everyone is you,” he says softly, breaking his eyes off of mine finally. The words nearly send me recoiling into the wall. I watch him scratching through his hair, scanning along the floor timidly.  
  
“What uh...whaddya mean by that?”  
  
He looks back up at me and my heart hitches a bit at his eyes. They look so desperate and scared, it’s throwing me for such a loop. Kyle doesn’t _get_ desperate and scared, he gets angry and determined. It’s like it’s not even his damn face. “Well,” he starts slowly. “It feels like we’re finally friends again, I don’t know,” he says embarrassedly.  
  
“Dude, we’ve always been friends,” I remind him.  
  
“But now it’s like it was when we were younger,” he says softly. I cock my brow. When we were younger it was him and Stan against the world, Cartman in his _own_ world, and me trailing along behind them like a sad little tugboat. He notices my suspicion and shrugs. “Stan’s entire life is sports and Wendy,” he sighs. “Cartman is still just a fucking asshole...But you’re...you’re someone I can talk to,” he winces a bit.  
  
I feel that telltale anger percolating deep inside my sensitive stomach. Of course. Quiet Kenny always just there for people to dump their shit on. Why the fuck am I not surprised? “Nice to know I’m here to be your vent box, Kyle,” I say a bit more bitterly than I was trying to, but by the look on his face I got my message across.  
  
His face drops immensely, “Dude, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re _not_ my damn vent box. I haven’t told you any fucking _real_ problems of mine for years because you closed me off.” We stare at each other and I shrink down a bit. Okay, so he has a bit of a point. I really didn’t want to take the time to listen to his issues with...whatever he had going on. I will readily admit that I was just bitter as fuck against him and our other friends. He told me about little scuffles with Ike and his mom and Stan or whatever, but I guess the kid’s got more going on than the insignificant crap that I bothered to listen to. “Besides,” he continues, getting a sliver of that trademarked anger of his flashing through his expression, “I listened to _you_ , too. That’s not a vent box, that’s being a friend.”  
  
“I didn’t think you really listened,” I shrug a bit, my thumb playing with the label on my soda.  
  
He looks almost offended. “Of course I did, you dumbass. And _I_ had to make the extra effort to translate whatever the hell you were rambling about. I pretty much had to learn a whole new language with that damn hood of yours.”  
  
I jerk back a bit, blinking at him slowly before a long, slow attempt to conceal does nothing for me and I end up busting into laughter. He’s got a _hell_ of a point I guess. It’s not long of my incessant chortling before he joins me and we both end up out of breath wiping our eyes a bit. It takes me falling into a coughing fit for us to finally stop and he lunges up, patting my back a bit while I try to get some soda down my convulsing throat. “Uugghh,” I groan, letting my head lean back and hit the wall. “Being sick sucks.”  
  
He chuckles, “Well it certainly isn’t a walk in the park. Take it from someone with the immune system of a goddamn ninety year old,” he rolls his eyes.  
  
I look over at him and smirk a bit, scooting over on my bed and yanking him over to sit beside me. I hand him my Sprite and shrug. “You being here for this long has already sealed your doom. May as well go all out.” He stares at me for a moment before just shrugging in defeat and taking a long swig of my soda and handing it back to me. “So,” I say, watching him tonguing over his lips a bit. “You really listened to me when we were kids?”  
  
He nods, “Yeah, Dude. Why the hell wouldn’t I?”  
  
I shrug. “Never seemed like any of you really did, that’s all.”  
  
He leans his cheek into his palm and stares at me curiously. “Well, I’m telling you that I did. I heard whenever you said you were hungry or needed money or whatever, hence the reason I give you goddamn food and money whenever I can spare it, you retard.” I feel my face heating up a bit. Once again, he’s got me there. I jerk back into attention as he continues, “I mean, when you and I hung out together you didn’t _stop_ talking. For a long time I thought I was your best friend,” he laughs before it dies off a little. “But then you’d disappear for days at a time so I kind of abandoned that notion...”  
  
My jaw drops, scanning over him desperately. He remembers me being gone? He fucking remembers?! I grab him, pulling him closer to my face and he yelps as I stare at him, my breathing out of my control, searching his eyes _desperately_ to see if he’s making shit up. He looks at me worriedly, I don’t blame him. I don’t usually grab people, but this is just too important for me to glance over. “Kyle. You remember me being gone?” I ask seriously.  
  
He raises his brow but nods slowly. “Y-yeah? And it stopped a few months ago when you started being, well, nicer to people,” he shrugs. “I mean...you wouldn’t tell us where you were so I never prodded but-” he stops as I slam my hand over his mouth, grating my lip between my teeth. He means it. He noticed.  
  
“I can’t believe you _remember_ ,” I whisper, my heart beating wildly in my chest.  
  
He clears his throat, shaking off my hand and trying to straighten himself out. He slowly grabs my restraining palm and gently pulls it off of himself. “Ken, why the hell wouldn’t I remember you being gone for hours or days out of fucking nowhere?” he raises his brow incredulously.  
  
“Do the others remember?” I ask hurriedly.  
  
He blinks and shrugs, “I honestly have no idea. They never brought it up so I never questioned it.”  
  
“How long have you been noticing this?” I inquire, way too many questions piling on top of me, my excitement starting to kick into overdrive.  
  
He looks up thoughtfully with his head cocked, “Uh...I wanna say since we were about...thirteen?” he winces a bit. He looks back at me and his face drops. “Ken, you’re shaking,” he says worriedly, putting his hand on my forehead. “Hm, you don’t feel fevered but-”   
  
“It’s not that!” I exclaim, forcing another immanent coughing fit down. It can fucking _wait_. I grab Kyle’s hand, clasping onto it tightly and watching his face go up in flames once more. “Kyle, you really _really_ remember?”  
  
“Yes, Kenny, Jesus!” he says in concern. “What is going on? Why are you fascinated with that?”  
  
I bite my lip with a grin, “Because you’re the only one that _does_ remember.”  
  
“Okay, okay,” he rips his hand out of mine and turns himself to face me, sitting cross-legged and giving me a firm stare. “Ken, what happened when you were gone? Was it your dad? O-or some schooling thing or-”  
  
“I died!” I practically scream, throwing my sore arms up in exasperation. I don’t _care_ if he doesn’t believe me, just saying it out loud again is giving me a renewed energy I didn’t know I could have. He doesn’t remember from when we were nine, he doesn’t remember me shooting myself in the face. But now maybe he _can_.  
  
He blinks at me slowly, “You...died?” he repeats uncertainly. No doubt, Kyle’s way too logical for his own good. This wouldn’t be an easy thing for his scientific mind to wrap around.  
  
“Over and over,” I bemoan. “Kyle, my soul is fucked up. I died _all the time_. You saw it _all the time_ ,” I re-emphasize.  
  
I can see the skepticism written all over his slender face, his eyes scanning my own worriedly. “Ken that...that doesn’t make any-”   
“I know it doesn’t,” I interject, coughing lightly into my arm, looking up as Kyle pushes a tissue to me, still stuck in a dazed look. I grab it from him and blow my nose, my eyes watering from a combo of this damn cold and my emotions spiraling out of control. “But it’s the _truth_ , Kyle, I swear to God.”  
  
He finally breaks away from my face, narrowing his eyes at my mattress in pure loss. “I think I’d remember if you’d died-”  
  
“No. No you wouldn’t,” I say firmly, reaching over and grasping his hand again. “No one does, Kyle. You’re the first person who’s remembered me even being gone to begin with. Please _please_ believe me,” I plead. I think this is the most emotion I’ve actually had in _years_. I so desperately want Kyle to believe me. I want so much for him to just do that and give me some reaffirmation.  
  
He takes a deep breath, still looking suspiciously at me before looking down at our hands. “I...I don’t know what to say here,” he admits quietly. “But I know that...you don’t lie to me,” he looks back up and bites his lip. “I don’t remember seeing you die or whatever. And...I’m having a hard time...believing it,” he winces. “But if that’s what you say happened then...that’s what happened until proven otherwise.” he shrugs, looking like he can’t believe what he’s saying.  
  
I can’t say I’m feeling much different. Before I can stop myself I’m lunging forward and grasping him in a hug, hearing him squeak a bit as I huddle down into his shoulder. “Thank you,” I whisper.  
  
I can feel him gulp under me before his arms timidly wrap back around me. It doesn’t take an awfully long time before he slinks down into my arms comfortably. This feels _right_ , it feels so nice. It feels like actual _support_. He remembers, he says he’ll believe me for now...I know that something inside of him is screaming to call me crazy and walk out, but even Kyle’s ridiculously obnoxious logical side isn’t driving him away from me. I feel another barb slicing into my chest and blink. This is _my_ feel-good moment. Who the hell am I making feel better? I start coughing again and Kyle pats my back, pushing me back up and handing me my soda once more. His green eyes are still lost in a forest of befuddlement, but I can also see him trying to beat it down, just be there for me like he knows how to do so well. He slowly smiles at me and I realize that I’ve been smiling at him the whole time like an idiot.  
  
He turns and glances at the clock, his face dropping. “Shit, I’m late for track,” he groans looking at me with another small grin. “You gonna be okay?”  
  
I nod frantically, “Yeah. Yeah I’m great.”  
  
“Think you’ll be at school tomorrow?” he cocks his head.  
  
“Probably,” I say. “I think it was just weekend bug,” I wave my hand dismissively.  
  
He smiles a little wider, “Good. Do you wanna hang out tomorrow after?” he shrugs a bit.  
  
“Sounds good to me,” I nod. Would I like to spend my time with the one person in the world who notices my disappearances? Why yes. Yes I fucking would.   
  
 He gets up off my bed and to his feet, stretching a bit as I watch him. “Cool. Meet you by the cafeteria?” I nod. “See you tomorrow then, feel better,” he waves a bit, grabbing his backpack off the ground and heading towards the door. He turns back a bit and smiles at me again before stepping out, shutting the door behind him. I watch after him, for the first time in a goddamn long time feeling a lightening in my heart. I feel _happy_. I didn’t know a mere notice of my existence could mean so damn much. I fall over onto my side on my pillow, snuggling down under my comforter and taking as deep a breath as I can manage. Whether or not he truly believes me is irrelevant at this point. If he at least _pretends_ to care about my plight, if he’s willing enough to make the effort to try to understand what’s happening with me and the pendulous swaying of my mortality, then that’s good enough for me. It feels _right._  
  



	11. Day 186 - March 2nd, Part One

I won’t deny, there’s a definite airiness in my step today. In fact, people have noticed it. Someone came up to me asking if I got laid, to which they were dumbfounded when I informed them no, I was just in a good mood. Stan thought maybe I was on drugs, Cartman thought that maybe I found a nickel and thought I’d made it big. Kyle? Kyle just kind of amusedly watched me. It wasn’t like I was jumping on top of tables singing, but I was definitely feeling better than I have in quite some time. A good fourteen hours of sleep kicked my cold’s ass and Kyle’s words wouldn’t stop circulating through my mind. I couldn’t be bothered to give a half of a shit while my teachers all threw make-up work at me and called me out for not paying any attention to them. It’s the first decent day I’ve had in years, I’m entitled to be a little out of it I think.  
  
However, all that’s on my mind now is waiting impatiently for the damn bell to ring. Sitting next to Cartman in geography is far from my ideal way to end every stinkin’ day. He keeps flicking paper wads at me and I just glare at him, earning a cheeky, chubby grin every time. Why myself, Kyle, and Stan haven’t dropped him like a hot potato for good yet, I’ll never know. Probably because he’s a goddamn parasite, leeching off what little life force remains within us whenever we’re around him.  
  
“Kinny,” he says, nudging my arm.  
  
“What?” I raise my brow, looking up towards our teacher sitting behind his desk, looking lost in his own world on his computer. Works for me.  
  
He smirks, “I got a new Xbox game, wanna come test it out after this shit?” I can’t help but roll my eyes. Whenever Cartman gets a new game, console, _shirt_ , whatever, he always comes to me to brag. Usually us ‘testing’ a game involves the both of us playing but every word out of his mouth is how thankful he is to have money. After awhile I block it out and just go berserk on his character, which always gives me some level of satisfaction listening to him whining that his controller must be broken.  
  
“Can’t, hangin’ with Kyle,” I shrug. I’m thankful to have a viable excuse for once, that’s for sure.  
  
He scoffs indignantly. “Why hang out with that fag?”  
  
“He’s not a fag, Cartman,” I roll my eyes, mindlessly tapping my pen on our table.  
  
He snickers, “Leave it to his boyfriend to defend him.”  
  
“Okay, either Stan or I are his boyfriend, you need to pick,” I say dryly.  
  
He shrugs, “I personally believe the three of you are in a polyamorous relationship and have orgies with each other every two weeks.”  
  
“Every two weeks,” I repeat.  
  
“Yeah, and then on the alternating weeks, you take turns makin’ the Jew your bitch,” he says casually, looking over with a smirking glint flashing through his amber eyes.  
  
I lean back and cross my arms, caught between laughing and slamming his head onto the table. “You know, you seem _very_ interested in Kyle’s sex life,” I observe. “You into him, Fatass?” I watch with a self-satisfied grin as his face turns a sickly green and he begins quietly dry heaving. “Thinkin’ about him naked,” I keep on going, far too into the game to stop now. “Thinkin’ about him moaning in your ear ‘Oh Eric, oh _Eric_!’”  
  
“Jesus Christ you sick fuck!” he looks at me disgustedly and I sputter out into raucous laughter. He shoves me as the bell rings and I can’t stop my hysterical snorting at his traumatized face.  
  
“Sorry, you’re right,” I hold my hands up in defense as we get to our feet. “He’d still be callin’ ya Fatass.” He rolls his eyes and slaps me upside the head and I snort again. Poor Cartman. He can never eat the dishes he serves, which is surprising considering his gluttonous habits. We gather up our bags and file out of the door with the rest of our peers, both of us glancing around before heading down towards the west wing of the school.   
  
“You’re a sick freak, Kinny,” he mutters, still shuddering.  
  
I shrug, “Well hey, just makin’ an observation, Fat-tits. Back off of him and I won’t see through you so easily.”  
  
He scoffs, “Why’re you defending him? The fuck he’d do for you? Aside from suck your dick of course,” he adds dryly. I roll my eyes bemusedly. What’d he do for me? He made me feel like I matter for once in my goddamn life, that’s what he did, Cartman.  
  
“Just bein’ a friend. Maybe you should try it sometime.” I watch his face contort into pure disinterest. Not surprising. He _can_ be a friend, but damn it’s barely even once in a blue moon and it’s _only_ if he benefits in the end. Not like it’s something I’m not used to. Annoyed with, yes, but after almost two decades of it, it’s just something you kind of grow accustomed to. He grunts, shoving my shoulder before veering off to a side hall. I watch after him a bit as he makes a beeline towards Butters, probably to steal his homework again. “Yeah, bye to you, too, Blubberbutt!” I call out. He cooly flips me off and I shake my head, heading down the hall towards the other side of the building.   
  
Evading people in these halls is never a fun task, but today it seems to be particularly easier. Maybe because for once I’m not staring at the ground. That could definitely be a potential hinderer. I can’t help but stare at faces as I pass them by, a few of them smiling and waving at me as I awkwardly reciprocate. Kyle remembers, why don’t these people? Or do they? Is everyone just afraid to ask me? Do they think it’s just a private family thing being abused or whatever? But why wouldn’t Stan and Cartman, particularly Cartman, question me on it? Those two lack more tact than anyone else I know. They don’t just tiptoe around questions, they blurt out their feelings. Did I just not mean as much to them as I thought? Or are they all stuck in this kind of permanent amnesia that Kyle somehow managed to evade?  
  
I sigh tiredly. This whole supernatural happenings thing has never been my schtick. I mean, yeah, I _am_ a supernatural thing, but I’ve never enjoyed it, that’s for sure. There’s so many rules and whatnot I’ve had to figure out as time’s went on. Things that will send me to Heaven or Hell or Purgatory, what to do when I _get_ to one of those places. I’ve been to Hell enough that I could probably just be a tour guide at this point. It’s just so confusing. And why am I the _only_ one like this? I shake my head a bit. I guess it doesn’t matter. I’ve been asking myself these questions for far too long with no indications of getting myself anywhere near closure. I guess I’m just going to have to live with it. Not like I have a _terribly_ long amount of time left anyway...  
  
“Hey,” a voice startles me.   
  
I turn to see Stan smirking at me a bit, leaning against a locker. “Hey,” I stop my walk and nod back. “You sellin’ drugs or somethin’?”  
  
“Nah,” he shakes his head with a stupid grin. “You and Ky are gonna hang out?”  
  
I nod slowly, “Sorry, did I need to make an appointment via the best friend department or what?”  
  
He snorts a bit and rolls his eyes, “No, just asking a question, Assface.”  
  
I can’t help but smirk back at him. That smile is just so weird looking on him...But once again, I shake it off. “That all you wanted to ask me?” I raise my brow.  
  
He shrugs, “Just curious...” he trails off, the grin falling a tad as he looks me over. “Just...” he scratches his head a bit and bites his lip.  
  
“Just...?” I urge him. If he’s about to say ‘Kenny, you’re so different’ I might punch him in the face. Given I’d have to run like a goddamn cheetah to save my ass, but it would be placed into heavy consideration.  
  
I watch his face contort a bit and cock my head. It’s worried. Why is he _worried_? Is he afraid I’m a bad influence on the ‘pureness’ that is Kyle? Even though the both of us know that shit is _far_ from the truth, Stan seems to hold him up to that level as Kyle does him. Best friends, Man, I don’t know what to say about ‘em. “If he says something to you...” he says slowly. “Something...important,” he seems to choose the word carefully. “Don’t hurt him.”  
  
I blink at him in complete confusion. “When the fuck have I hurt Kyle?”  
  
He huffs out a few laughs, “You have more than you know, Dude,” he puts his hand on my shoulder and I nearly tear myself out from under it, not used to this kind of treatment from Stan. He seems as though he’s halfway between ‘I’m your friend and I care’ and ‘You hurt my _real_ friend and I’ll rip you to shreds’. I don’t know which side to trust here.  
  
“Whaddya mean?” I question.  
  
He shakes his head, “It’s not my place to say, it’s his,” he shrugs, taking his hand off of me. “I gotta hit baseball practice so...have fun with Ky.”  
  
“Uhhhh,” I raise my brow, watching as he turns on his heel and starts walking in the direction I came from. The fuck was _that_ about? I’ve never laid a goddamn hand on Kyle, why does he seem to think I’d hurt him?!   
  
I scratch at my hair confusedly. Everyone is so goddamn off today. Are they _always_ like this? I mean, I pay fleeting attention to them, but that should still be enough to know if they’re acting normal or completely out of their minds, right? I stand around for a bit, watching the hallways begin to clear and trying to sort through whatever the hell kind of advice/warning I was just given. I’m just lost. I guess I was right, Stan and I aren’t that close because I have no _idea_ what the hell kind of predicament I was just presented with.  
  
I hear people dissipating down either side of the hall and take a long, frustrated breath, continuing down my way towards the cafeteria. My mind is just racing, trying to figure out times I’ve hurt Kyle. Did he mean when I die? My eyes widen a bit. Was Kyle just upset I never told him where I went? Maybe that’s it. Maybe he just felt left out of the loop, I know how much Kyle hates to feel like he’s been left out to dry. I nod firmly to myself. Well, I already solved that problem, I told him _exactly_ where I was. So there had to be some reconciliation there...right? Or am I so out of the ball park I’m wandering around the parking lot? I groan, leaning my head back and letting my retinas burn for a few moments in the florescent lights. Getting involved in people’s lives just requires way too much thinking.  
  
I jolt out of my pondering as I hear a yelp and a slam against a locker down the way. I raise my brow, picking up my pace a bit and heading down towards a diverted corridor, peeking around the corner wall. I see a group standing in a bit of a circle, recognizing Craig, Token, Clyde and a few others that I’ve seen wandering around. The fuck are they up to?  
  
“I’m _not_ interested!” I hear in a very familiar voice. I try peeking around Craig, not having to do much as he walks forwards. I see a shock of red hair and my jaw drops a bit, seeing Kyle with a blooded nose and his left eye wincing in pain, some guy holding him still by his arms behind his back.  
  
“And just how can we be sure of that, Brof?” Token asks casually as Craig grabs his face.  
  
“Because,” he says through gritted teeth, spitting viciously into Craig’s eye and watching him stumble back in a flurry of curses. “I’m telling you I’m _not_. And what if I was? It’s none of your fucking business!” He shrinks back against the behemoth holding him as Craig regains his composure, screeching as a fist flies into his cheek and he goes sprawling on the ground. I’m frozen. I have no fucking idea what the fuck is going on right now. Interested in _what_? I watch as Kyle grabs a shoe coming down to kick at him, reaching up and slamming his own fist into his assaulters stomach and kicking away from him as he falls. He pants, backing up against a locker on the ground and staring up at his attackers nervously.  
  
“It _is_ our business,” Token interjects, kneeling down beside him. I watch as Kyle tries to scramble away before a hand snares in his hair and holds him still. “You take him away, he loses focus, we fuckin’ lose scholarships. It’s a big goddamn deal, Kyle.”  
  
“Oh my _god_ ,” he rolls his eyes. “I don’t see you kicking _Wendy’s_ ass!” I blink in confusion. Wendy? The fuck does Wendy have to do with anything?  
  
 “That’s because Stan gets so angry at her he plays better,” Clyde shrugs. “He doesn’t get angry at you.”  
  
“Well for one, you’d be fucking surprised,” he says dryly, trying to yank the hand out of his curls and hissing. “For another, I’m not fucking after Stan! Back the fuck off!” he screeches, letting his fist fly towards Token and makes contact with his cheek. Token falls back and Kyle hops to his feet, trying to find an escape route.  
  
“Well as much time as you spend together-” Craig starts before Kyle snarls.  
  
 “We’re fucking best friends, you dipshit. I guess you three are in an automatic orgy then since you’re always together by your fucking logic,” he gestures to him, Clyde, and Token.  
  
Clyde rolls his eyes, “Don’t try to turn this on us, Broflovski.”  
  
“Just get out of my way and let me go home to my life and _my_ fucking business!” he growls. He moves to shove past a couple of guys but doesn’t make it far before his arms are snared again and he’s shoved back into a locker. He cries out softly as his head slams into the metal, his legs faltering. “God _dammit_ I didn’t fucking do anything!” he insists.  
  
“But you can,” Token raises his brow.  
  
He bares his teeth and sneers. “Did you not fuckin’ hear me?! I don’t want Stan. I have _never_ wanted Stan, and I never fucking will! Just back the fuck off of me!”  
  
Okay I am officially confused out of my goddamn mind. What the hell is happening right now? Have I been dropped off in some weird-ass parallel universe without my knowledge? My wonderings are cut short as Craig raises his leg and slams his foot into Kyle’s stomach. I hear the barest of whimpers creak out of his lips before he crashes back into the locker and falls to a crumpled heap on the ground, holding his stomach and groaning. I hear a barrage of kicks falling onto my small friend, who’s busy trying to hide his face and aimlessly grab at legs. A particularly hard kick to his back results in a loud yelp, and before I know it myself, I’m springing into action.  
  
“HEY!” I scream. The group looks at me. “Get the **fuck** off of him!” I order.   
  
“Get out of here, McCormick, this isn’t your business,” Craig rolls his eyes.   
  
“Like hell it ain’t!” I snarl. Holy shit my body is on fire. I’m fueled with violent rage that I usually reserve only for my father.  
  
I see Kyle looking at me helplessly, gasping for air. He shakes his head at me, trying to wave me away and I shake my head back, looking back at his assaulters. For some reason, his action just propels me forward. Before I know it, I’m running towards Craig and slamming into him, bringing him down onto the ground and thrusting my fist into his face. I’m about to make another good size bruise before I’m ripped off of him and thrown backwards. I end up landing on top of Kyle’s back with my own, sitting up and helping him back from getting the wind knocked out of him.  
  
“Kenny, go away,” he wheezes.  
  
“Don’t be an idiot,” I hiss. I look up to see the group hovering over us and do the only thing I know how to do: Grab Kyle and shove him behind me. I’ve done this with Karen enough I’m practically the goddamn expert. I glance back at him, seeing him staring at me in shock before turning my attention back to the front, getting onto my knees and placing my arms back behind me like a cage around Kyle. “You know,” I say snidely, “Whatever the fuck you’re freaking out at Kyle about with Stan...it ain’t gonna be _nothin’_ compared to what Stan’ll do to _you_ when he finds out you did this to Ky.” This seems to slow them down a bit and I straighten up further around the redhead, watching them carefully as they look at each other. They all know _exactly_ what I’m talking about. Stan takes a personal vendetta against anyone who fucks with Kyle, usually far out of the boy’s knowledge. Hell, at least three of these guys have been on the wrong end of Stan’s fist after pissing Kyle off. They know better.  
  
Token and Clyde both lean in, saying something softly to Craig as I feel Kyle’s fingers tightening into my sweatshirt and gulp. “Fine,” Craig mutters to them before looking at us, or more specifically, Kyle. “You mess around with him and your ass is ours, Broflovski,” he spits.  
  
I yelp as one of them kicks me in the chest, sending me and Kyle both crashing against the lockers again. I scramble up as they all turn away and begin heading towards the east end of the school. I feel a rush of adrenaline that I haven’t had in quite some time flooding my veins and I gulp, looking to see Kyle crawling to the side of me, looking at the ground embarrassedly.  
  
“Ky,” I pant out, staring at him with wide eyes. “Kyle, what the _fuck_ was that about?”  
  
He raises his vision to me and bites his lip, wiping some of the blood from off his face and rubbing his arm self-consciously. I can barely hear him and have to lean in, his inaudible words flittering through the air soft as cotton falling, “I...I guess you’re about to be a vent box.”


	12. Day 186 - March 2nd, Part Two

I kind of hate Kyle when he’s like this. He’s refusing to talk to me until we get somewhere ‘far from the school’ as he put it, not really giving a direct amount of distance. We’ve already walked off the grounds, carefully evading the baseball field I noticed, and made our way into downtown. I can’t stop staring at him, his face is completely red and not just from the blood he scrubbed off. He can’t stop staring at the ground, his lip is swollen as fuck from his damn teeth rubbing over it nonstop. His first words in nearly a half hour startle me. “You wanna get some coffee?”  
  
I blink at him for a bit, him still refusing to look up towards me. “Whatever you want, Dude,” I reply softly. I’m teetering on the edge of my nerves here, but it looks like whatever the hell is wrong with Kyle is a lot worse than my impatience. He turns a sudden corner of the sidewalk and we walk into Harbucks together.   
  
“Hey, Kyle, usual?” some middle aged woman behind the counter asks.   
  
He nods, “Yeah, and whatever he wants,” he juts his thumb back to me. I look at the menu and cock my head confusedly. I don’t drink anything but off-brand J-Mart coffee when my family manages to scrounge up some pennies. Kyle finally looks at me and chuckles, “Just make two of mine, you’ll like it,” he reassures me.  
  
“Works for me,” I nod softly as his stare goes back to the floor. His brief glance gave me a pretty good look at the mess of his left eye. I’ve dealt with enough of my own to know that sucker’s gonna be there for two weeks at least. Add that on to the fact that Kyle’s always bruised like a goddamn peach and it’ll probably last him until friggin’ graduation. I watch him robotically swiping his credit card and waiting for our drinks, seeming to find the granite countertop extremely intriguing as his fingertip traces along a pattern of specks. He looks beside himself, unsure...I’ve been seeing that on him way too much recently, it’s completely devoid of everything that I _know_ he is. I’m intrigued but uncomfortable, my mind and stomach twisting together in a strange fluid dance that I’m not sure coffee will settle well on.  
  
It only takes a few more minutes before she hands Kyle two large iced drinks and he passes one off to me, saying a soft thank you that I follow suit on. He sighs, “Let’s go...sit outside,” he says, looking around at the other patrons wearily.  
  
“Lead the way,” I nod, following on his trail as he practically speedwalks back into the bright sunshine. He leads me over to a table on the side of the building on a patch of grass, isolated from the rest of the restaurant’s furniture. I look around and snort a bit, “Know your coffee shop layouts well, dontcha?”  
  
He smiles a bit shyly as we take a seat. “I study over here when my mom’s driving me crazy.”  
  
“Well then you outta just move your bed over to the side there,” I jut my thumb further down the building. He gives a small laugh, though I can tell that laughing is the absolute last thing on his mind, and I’m not feelin’ much different. I take a sip of my drink and my eyes widen in surprise. I think I’ve only had ‘fancy’ coffee once, when Kevin brought me home some lukewarm shit that he didn’t want to finish.   
  
“It’s carmel and cinnamon,” he comments softly, watching me with a twinge of amusement as I down practically half of it in one sitting. No wonder people are willing to shove out twelve bucks a cup, this shit is good. But, deliciousness aside, there’s a pretty serious matter at hand here.  
  
“Okay, Ky,” I say, pushing my coffee aside much to my dismay. “We’re _far_ from the school. What the fuck happened?”  
  
He takes a deep breath and slowly sips at his drink. “So...” he looks up thoughtfully and groans to himself before blinking a bit. “Okay, pop quiz,” he raises his brow. I return the action but nod slowly. “What is one of Cartman’s favorite things to call me?”  
  
“Uh...Jew?” I shrug.  
  
“Try again.”  
  
Seriously? Is he _seriously_ going to play around here? One look in his eyes however, tells me that this is a game that I need to play, because I’m not getting a answer otherwise. I blow some of my bangs out of my face. “Jew...Rat?” I wince.  
  
“Not Jew-related,” he rolls his eyes, muttering about Cartman slandering the Jewish community via him or something or other.  
  
“Kahl?” A head shake. I groan, tapping my finger impatiently. “I don’t know, Kyle. Fag?” He pauses before letting his eyes drop down to his drink again and nodding softly. I back up from him a bit and I can feel my mouth dropping slowly. “Wait. You’re seriously...”  
  
“I’m seriously,” he shrugs with a tired sigh. “The idiot doesn’t know it’s actually _true_...” he trails off. “Well hell, now he probably does. Probably the whole fucking school does,” he says miserably.  
  
“Wait. Wait,” I put my fingers on my temple and stare at him. I need to back off, I know I do. I can _feel_ myself gawking at him like he’s a circus exhibit. But holy shit.  
  
He looks at me and smirks a bit, “Are you really _that_ surprised? I’ve never had a girlfriend.”  
  
“Well you’ve never had a _boy_ friend either,” I shrug. “Honestly I figured you were part of some hyper-intelligent alien race that didn’t have genitals that came to take us over.”  
  
He blinks a bit before sputtering into laughter, hiding his eyes in his hand and shaking his head. “Oh my fucking _god_ are you fucking serious?”   
  
I can’t help but smile back at him a bit, a little proud that I managed to somehow get him to stop looking so goddamn humiliated. “Kyle you’re a goddamn closed book when it comes to this shit, I didn’t know _what_ to expect,” I say quietly.  
  
He stops laughing and looks up at me with that sad glint flashing back through. “Well...I’m a private person,” he shrugs with a wince.  
  
“You coulda told me,” I say, a little offended that he didn’t for some goddamn reason that even I can’t begin to imagine. “You know I go swingin’ on the sexuality tree,” I motion my finger swishing back and forth.  
  
He chuckles, “I didn’t _know_ that until a few months ago, Ken,” he reminds me. “And I was already past the struggling with it all thing and...it just didn’t seem like it _needed_ to be brought to your attention.”  
  
I lean my cheek into my palm and stare at him a bit. He tries staring back before his eyes fall back onto his coffee and he takes a long sip. I feel like a goddamn idiot. It _really_ should have kicked in long before this. Cartman’s teasing making him clam up, not knowing what he’d do with a wife...Aw shit. “Sorry I’m an oblivious retard,” I snort, rolling my eyes at myself. “I just never pictured you...uh...” I look for my words, unable to find them.  
  
“Liking cock?” he guesses. I spurt out some laughter at his brashness but nod.   
  
“Yeah. Liking cock,” I smirk. “When did you find yourself riding the rainbow train?”  
  
He clears his throat and shifts a bit. “Um, when I was thirteen,” he says softly, giving me a small shrug. “Fuckin’ nearly _killed_ me for three years. Then Ike figured it out...who told Mom and Dad...who told Stan,” he frowns.  
  
I raise my brow. “Stan? Why Stan?”  
  
“To this day I’m not sure,” he chuckles humorlessly. “I like to tell myself it was because they knew he’s my best friend and wouldn’t judge me and would pull me out of my funk...but I’ve always had this inkling my mom thought that he was straight as a goddamn arrow so I’d follow his influence.”  
  
I can’t help but laugh at the hypothetical thought process. Stan is certainly heteronormative as one can get, but Kyle is the _farthest_ thing from following his influence. Hell, stand the two of them next to each other and you’d swear they were from different goddamn galaxies. However, something is bothering me. “You were struggling for three years?” I ask. He nods and I cock my head at him. “Why didn’t you say anything, Dude?”  
  
“Because around that time you started getting distant,” he replies softly. “And I didn’t want to, ya know, be that dick that runs to someone who has it worse than I do with my petty shit.”  
  
I blink at him, “Your problems aren’t petty, Kyle.”  
  
He looks at me sadly and shrugs, “Whatever was on your mind seemed a lot worse. I could hide how I felt...you couldn’t,” he winces. I stare back at him, slinking down into my seat and grabbing my coffee as a distraction, very slowly sucking up the overly-sweetened liquid. He has a point I guess. I’m like my parents before me, when I’m angry, it drives me forward. I guess my poker face just isn’t quite as top-notch as I’d previously thought, and apparently, it never had been.  
  
“Sorry,” I say quietly, playing with my straw with my tongue. I catch him staring before he blinks and shakes himself back to looking at my eyes and I raise my brow. I set my drink down and clear my throat a bit, “I, uh...well...you know I _told_ you what was happening.”  
  
“Right. The dying...thing...” he nods slowly.  
  
I grin a bit. “Wow. You did remember.”  
  
He looks at me like I’m completely retarded. “You literally just told me this yesterday, Kenny. My memory isn’t the best but give me _some_ credit.”  
  
I laugh a tad, feeling my heart flittering along happily. “Well when I told you guys when we were younger...you didn’t remember the next day,” I reminisce wistfully. “But, that’s not important,” I shake my hands in front of me, looking back to see a very lost looking redhead. My eyes linger on his shiner and I take a deep breath. “Ky, why were they attacking you?”  
  
He scoffs derisively, “Because they think I have a boner for Stan.” He shakes his head angrily, teeth back on his lips in an instant. “Apparently Stan accidently let it slip about my preference for the male gender and they ran with it as if I told Stan I wanted him to take me right there on the goddamn field!” he raises his arm in listless exasperation.  
  
“I didn’t know those dudes were homophobes,” I tilt my head. Hell, in fact I was pretty sure they weren’t. They seemed to just like their own little off world and thrived in it. A part of me always envied that to some extent.  
  
He shrugs, “The weird thing is, I don’t think they are. I think they’re Kyle-and-Stan-as-a-couple-phobes.”  
  
I can’t help myself and grin cheekily. “Aw c’mon, Ky. You know you want big strong Stan the man to whisk you away.”  
  
He leans forward towards me with a glare. “Okay, so you know how you said you can come back from the dead?” I nod with that grin still plastered on my face. “Say that kind of shit again and I’ll be testing it,” he warns before leaning back and crossing his arms firmly. I snort a few times at his annoyed stance. He waits for me to calm down before letting out a long, heavy sigh. “Ken, I am the furthest thing away from having a thing for Stan. Like, light years away,” he rolls his eyes.  
  
“Really? As clingy as you two are?”  
  
His face contorts into a little pout and I mock it, breaking when he glares again. “We’re good friends, okay, so what? He’s over here,” he points to the edge of the table. “My type? Wayyyy down that way,” he points out towards the street. “I love Stan but Jesus Christ I’ve seen him and Wendy and I do not want that. Plus being puked on every few hours? Yeah no,” he raises his brow.  
  
I grin and shake my head. “Well at least you know what you want. Or at least...what you don’t want,” I shrug.  
  
“What I really don’t want is for people to be so presumptuous and beat the shit out of me because of a hypothetical...” he pauses and looks at me with a sad smile. “By the way, thanks for intervening.”   
  
I can feel my face heating a bit but ward it away with a casual shrug. “Hey, no one beats you up without my express permission.”  
  
“Oh gee. Thanks.” he says dryly.   
  
I snicker a bit, grabbing my drink and taking another sip. I let my tongue roam around the straw once again, and find Kyle entranced once more. Hm. Well well well. I put down the drink and lick over my lips, watching amusedly as Kyle once again jolts himself back into reality. “So.” I start, feeling my face curling into a shit-eating grin. It’s been a _long_ time since I really teased the hell out of Kyle, I’m not passing up this opportunity for anything. “What made you realize you might have a thing for cock?”  
  
His face flushes over immediately and he awkwardly shifts his weight on his chair. “Just...found myself staring at dudes and not girls...that’s all,” he says softly.  
  
“I see I see,” I lean back in my chair and stroke my chin dramatically. “And just... _who_ was the first male to catch your attention?”  
  
His face drops. “Kenny don’t do this to m-”  
  
“Answer the question,” I point at him, quirking my brow.   
  
He mutters under his breath to himself and sighs. “The... _first_ for like...five minutes...was...Craig,” he slams his head down onto his arms on the table and shakes his head in humiliation.  
  
The irony is certainly not lost on me. I can’t help but chuckle, reaching over and through his arms, cupping his chin and raising his burning face back into the light. “Dude, so ya liked Tucker, big whoop,” I shrug. “Guy’s got a nice set of arms.”  
  
“Not when we were thirteen,” he rolls his eyes. “Trust me, it was over and done pretty quickly.”  
  
“Ah, of course,” I nod. “And...since then, have any others caught your attention?” I watch with nothing short of a burst of glee breaking through my chest as his blush shoots down through his neck.  
  
“I...I-I uh,” he looks at me nervously, his hand clenching and unclenching around his coffee cup.  
  
 I smirk slyly. “Maybe someone like...me?” He falls silent sans a soft squeak breaking through his throat. He looks ready to run to the street and throw himself in traffic. Well hot damn what a day this is indeed.  
  
Some deep, sadistic part of me wants this moment to just last forever, with Kyle caught in such a scandalized and humiliated trance that I almost don’t know the best way to enjoy it. Some buried part of me had to have known this. I _had_ to have had _some_ inkling of what was going on in my little friend’s mind. It would certainly explain his clinginess, why he never left me even when I was being such a shit head when usually Kyle avoided those people like the plague. Hell, I should have had goddamn alarms ringing like crazy when he brought me soup yesterday, when he passed me meals nonstop throughout the last few years. I feel a few steps beyond retarded, just hopelessly oblivious while lost in my own inner turmoil, never seeing the _slightest_ indication that Kyle was going through his own shit.  
  
“How long, Ky?” I smile at him softly.  
  
His shoulders drop defeatedly, like he thinks he just lost me entirely. “Thirteen,” he mutters. “You were the fucking second. Happy?”  
  
Happy? Yeah. Yeah for the first time, I think I actually _am_ happy. I’m not paralyzed in an endless loop of nothing but a cold bitterness shoving me down. I don’t see everyone and everything like it’s nothing but an inconvenience, like an obstacle thrown in my way of achieving what I want most of all. Kyle’s done the goddamn impossible and made me feel something that isn’t anger. That isn’t just pure hatred of everyone and everything around me. All it took from him was time and a little memory, and things just seem...better. He’s still watching me, his face dropping from embarrassed into devastated at my silence.  
  
I smirk, moving from my chair to the one beside him staring at him intently. “I have one question.”  
  
“Okay,” he whispers with a timid nod.  
  
“Were you serious when you said you’d try to believe what I told you yesterday?”  
  
He blinks rapidly, obviously not expecting that kind of question. He clears his throat and nods, “Don’t get me wrong,” he starts quietly. “I’ll always have...skepticism,” he winces. “But I’ll do my best to,” he promises.  
  
That’s all I need.  
  
I grab him and yank him into my chest, hugging around him and nuzzling my head down into his hair. He just hangs there for a moment, breath and muscles locked in shock before very slowly he begins returning the embrace. His arms wrap up around me, fingers clenching into my sweatshirt and burying his face into my chest, taking a long and shuddery breath, all the tension seeming to melt right out of him. I chuckle, holding him closer and taking a deep, needed breath with him, that telltale sting slashing across my chest making the moment something that we both desperately need, something that for once makes things seem all the more perfect.


	13. Day 323 - July 17th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a hell of a time skip, like, four and a half months. I think we've established Ken and Ky enough you know how shit's gonna go down pft. And if I spent too much time on their relationship this story would drag on 5eva and no one wants that. So, sorry for the lack of awkward first date happenings, pft. Thanks for reading!

I really should have considered the possibility of getting a significant other way back when I started this damn quest, because Kyle is making this the easiest freakin' thing in the world for me to accomplish. Given, it didn't quite start out that way. He was panicky that he'd have the shit beaten out of him again and wanted to hide it. I made that idea die in an instant when we walked in through the doors of school the day the next day and I snagged his hand, refusing to let go. A barb before 8:30 in the morning was a new record for me, that's for sure. Stan came up and congratulated the hell out of us and apologized to Kyle for letting it slip like an idiot. That was swiftly followed with him promptly going to kick Craig's group's asses when he found out where Kyle's black eye spawned from, despite the redhead's protests, though I definitely caught a small, grateful smile over his lips. Cartman was predictably in tearful hysterics, literally rolling on the floor laughing about how 'brilliantly astute' he was until Kyle slammed his shoe down onto his throat and gave him fair warning to run. News about the two of us spread around like we were the goddamn plague, everyone and their mother coming up and congratulating us. Cheeky replies from myself and embarrassed snaps from Kyle could be heard all the rest of that week. It wasn't bad being the center of attention, I'll say that much.

After the 'excitement' of us died down, things quickly started flying towards the both of us in our private moments. I learned pretty fast that Kyle was almost worthy of an automatic barb. Our first kiss that weekend slashed right through me. Hell, going to see him the next day and kissing him gave me another barb right off the bat. One can imagine how exciting it was to learn that I could get them through things _I_ enjoyed as well. My birthday was only a few weeks from our get-together and, I have to say, feeling eternal salvation being etched onto my skin alongside Kyle's nervous little mouth around my dick was pretty sweet.

Two months later we were graduating and I was watching him up there making his speech alongside Wendy, both me and Stan elbowing each other and grinning as we watched them. When they finished, Kyle's eyes locked in mine and he smiled and yet another just flew over my marking. Of course, even if it weren't for that little event, I _know_ I would've gotten one that night. Kyle letting me have him for the first time was goddamn amazing for both of us. I don't think I've ever heard my name said so many times in a row and I hope I get to hear it in that desperate voice again and again.

Now that we're knee-deep in summer and Kyle's pretty much set preparing to start college at the state university a few towns over, all we do is hang out together with an occasional Stan or Cartman leeching off of us. It's definitely not a bad life to live. The last four months have literally just flown by, each day feeling like less of a burden to get through. I finally have a goddamn reason to get out of my bed that isn't just 'gotta get up or Karen will have to face Dad alone'. It's pretty fantastic feeling like I have some kind of purpose. In fact, it's a little _worrying_ in a way. Half the time, I forget all about my feather journey until I feel that sting, and then it disappears again with the next words Kyle speaks. I'm not sure how many days I have left. I have it marked on a calendar at home, but I'm not meticulously running the countdown in my head anymore. Kyle's just too damn distracting.

I look over at him next to me leaning against an old tree, his nose buried in a book like the nerd he is. The sun is hugging over his curls, letting them beam with gold and orange, fading in a gradient to his usual scarlet color. I love his fuckin' hair, I'm the only one allowed to play around with it without Kyle throwing a world-class hissy fit. I shrug inwardly and decide to indulge my privileges, reaching up and running my hand through the wild mess. He tears away from his book and smirks at me, "Can I help you?"

"Only if you have a prescription for an unquenchable sex drive and an obsession with a hot little Jew," I smirk back.

He rolls his eyes, marking his page and tossing his book next to him before turning back to me. "Well, I can kick you in the balls and that'll definitely kill your drive and probably your attraction to me."

"Don't be mean," I pout. He laughs and scoots over closer to me, our hips resting against each other. We look out over towards Stark's Pond in the distance. I keep running my fingers through his hair and he leans his head back on my shoulder.

"So...can I ask a weird question?" he asks softly.

I shrug, "Go for it."

He shifts a bit and clears his throat. "So, you know your whole...dying thing?" he wiggles his hand aimlessly. I nod and he looks up at me with wide eyes. "What's it like to die?"

I raise my brow and laugh a bit. "Why?"

He shrugs, "I'm a curious person, so sue me."

"Don't tempt me I'm poor," I grin cheekily, kissing his head a bit before leaning back and tonguing over my lips. I won't lie, hearing him asking me questions like he truly believes me is an amazing feeling that I don't think anything can ever surpass. "It's...well do you mean actually dying or after the fact when your spirit is on its way to wherever?"

He looks up thoughtfully, "Both?" he winces.

"M'kay..." I bite my lip a bit. "Well when you die, it actually feels...kinda nice," I shrug. "It's warm and really relaxing. You feel a lot of relief."

"Right. Your brain releases endorphins," he nods a bit.

I scoff playfully, "Well fine, turn a nice comforting process into a nerd-fest. See how far that gets ya." He snorts, hitting me lightly with the back of his hand. I pull him in a little closer and lean my head on top of his. "After that, you feel like you're floating, right? You see the white light and all that cliche crap. Then, in my experience, you literally just wind up wherever you're supposed to be, whether it be Heaven, Hell, or Purgatory."

"Have you been to all three?" he asks.

I nod, "Only Hell and Purgatory. Mostly Hell," I roll my eyes. I can feel him laughing silently against me and shake him a bit. He knows my track record, it's not like me being sent down there would be much of a surprise. "Well, actually I went to Heaven like, four times but they were all special exceptions. I don't know the usual process for going," I shrug.

"What's Hell like?" he inquires softly.

"Not nearly as bad as you think," I chuckle. "Torture is pretty lenient. Satan's a pretty chill guy, his son isn't half bad either."

He's silent for a moment. "Son? Oh, you mean Damien?"

I look down at him in surprise, "You remember him?"

He looks up at me and chuckles, "Well, he was the only kid in our class that I knew of at the time that had magical powers. That kinda sticks with ya," he grins. "You guys still talk?"

"All the time," I smirk a bit. "We hang out, have some beer, and talk until I come back to Earth."

"Wow," he muses. "I can't imagine icing your beer in Hell would be all that simple."

I snort, "Well Dam _does_ have magical powers," I remind him. "He can do pretty much anything he wants like the freak he is."

"Hm," he sniggers softly, nuzzling down further into my t-shirt and yawning a bit. "What about Purgatory?" he asks sleepily.

"It's literally nothing," I scoff. "It's boring as fuck."

"Sounds like it," he agrees. He looks back up at me with those curious eyes and I can't help but smile. "I have another question," he says softly. I nod him on and he looks at me with his lips twisted a bit in thought. "Do you prefer life or death?"

The question throws me for a loop, leaving me to just stare at him blankly. Both have become reprieves from the other, even when I was dying constantly it _was_ nice to go back up even though I considered my life to be a living Hellhole. If there'd been an option to stay _alive_ like a normal person, I probably would have taken it. This aiming for death thing was just the second best and the only hope that I could grasp on to. "I...I don't know," I whisper. "Both have their ups and downs..."

"Hm," he says thoughtfully, looking back out towards the pond. "I mean...I've died once, but I don't remember it," he sighs. "But I'm...afraid of death, ya know?" he shrugs.

"It's really not that bad," I assure him.

He smacks his lips a bit, "Maybe not, but I'll always feel wary of it. Nothing is ever certain. What if _your_ dying experience and mine differ, ya know? Especially if you're the special case like you are, maybe things are going to be super painful for me when it's a light breeze for you," he shrugs. "I don't know. I just...can't imagine liking death over life, you know?"

His little rant makes my heart sink. He's got a point. Kyle _always_ has a point. He's right, nothing is ever certain. I wrap an arm around his chest, the other coming up and mindlessly touching over where my feather mark is. We both stare out silently towards the pond and I can't help but feel this worrying pit down in the deepest chasm of my stomach. Something about what he said is getting to me. What if he's right? What if we're different because of my power? When I die for good, will I experience something completely out of the ordinary for me? What if Heaven _isn't_ what I think it is? What if I'm being led straight into a trap set up by the Devil to keep me from messing up his soul system? I look down at the mop of curls under me and lay my chin down into the clean, minty scent of Kyle, taking a cleansing breath. "I don't know what I want," I admit in a tired whisper.

"Whaddya mean?" he asks, cocking his head slightly under mine.

"I don't know...if I'd rather be alive and forgotten or dead and forgotten," I say quietly, letting my eyes follow sunshine dancing over the gentle waves of the pond. We watch them streaming along together in a sultry dance, purples and golds clashing against one another in the tepid water.

Kyle finally moves, sitting up against me and I move my legs around him. He turns his head towards mine, our faces mere centimeters from each other. "Either way," he says. "I won't forget you."

I smile at him a bit, wrapping both my arms around his waist and holding onto him tightly. "You will," I say sadly. "Either you'll forget watching me die or you'll forget how I am now."

He shakes his head a bit, his curls brushing over my cheek. "Wrong," he says simply. "Dude, if what you told me is true, then I would've just forgotten about you entirely, right?"

"Well-"

"Well nothing," he interjects firmly. "Kenny, you're too pessimistic," he says softly. "I mean, I'm not exactly fuckin' Rainbow Brite or some shit myself, but you tend to veer towards whatever path seems darker...maybe you need to figure out just what it is that you're _wanting_ out of life before you have this existential crisis."

I take a deep breath through my nose, laying my head down on his shoulder. I feel him lean his head against mine and take another breath. I really don't know. All I wanted was for someone to remember me. And now that I have it...I don't know where to go from here. "What do you want out of life?" I ask into his shirt.

He shrugs a little, "Just to be happy. It's cliche I guess but it's something to aim for."

I nod silently, grasping around him just a little tighter. To be happy, _truly_ happy is something I've been aching for for a long time. Kyle's brought me closer, but now I'm not sure what my end game is exactly. Will I be as happy in Heaven as I am with him? Or am I royally screwing myself here?

His voice picks up again with that soothing tone he's adapted just for my own listening pleasure. "I don't remember you dying," he says. "And...maybe I never will," he turns his head to look at me still hiding in his shoulder. "But I remember everything you do when you're alive. I think that counts for something, you know? Who's going to remember what you're doing in Hell or Heaven or wherever the fuck you end up? I personally would rather have one person with me when I'm living that cares than a billion who pass me by while I'm dead."

My entire body just slinks limply down into him. Damn him. Damn him and his ability to see the big picture when I'm stuck here with blinders trying to run a goddamn obstacle course. "You're too smart for me," I chuckle into his neck.

"Eh, if I'm dating someone like you I don't think that speaks highly of my intelligence," he teases.

I grin a bit, kissing and biting at his throat, letting him lean back into me with soft, contented moans flowing past his lips. "Oh really?" I growl, ripping him around and pushing him back onto the ground, straddling overtop of him. He chuckles, his hips arching up into mine and a wonderfully familiar lusty gleam striking through his eyes.

"Prove me wrong, Asstard," he challenges with a quirked brow. I can't help but smirk, knowing that he just gave me permission to go all out should I want to. And _damn_ do I want to. I need to get away from the thoughts that are trying to scream me into submission. I need the escape, and Kyle has been my best escape for months, I'm not going to let any opportunities slip me by. I reach down, forcefully ripping off his shirt and laughing softly as he falls back onto the ground with an _oof_. He shakes his hair out of his eyes and pushes himself back up, wrapping his arms around my neck and bringing me down with him, smiling at me deviously before it fades off into a semi-worried frown. "Ken? You okay?"

I recoil a bit and stare at him confusedly. "Y-yeah? Why wouldn't I be?"

He stares at me intently for a minute, cocking his head. "You seem...upset about something," he says carefully, and I can just see the wheels in his head turning to figure out what exactly is making me off. So much for Kyle not being able to read me well.

I shrug, sitting up a bit and yanking off my own shirt, throwing it down on top of his. I can't help but smile cockily as I watch his eyes drifting off my face and down my chest. "You like whatcha see?" I tease, flicking his nose a bit.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes, "Don't get an ego, McCormick." He pauses for a moment, bringing his hand up and touching my marker and I feel my heart hitching as his fingers delicately trace over numerous barbs. He helped give me these, having them touching each other is like a war for my goddamn soul. "Your tattoo doesn't look right," he mutters a bit. "And I _swear_ it had less of these when we started dating," he traces over another one.

I grab his hand and pull it off and he looks up at me in dazed surprise. "I get it worked on every few weeks," I lie. "You know, one barb is like, ten dollars, so I'm just working towards getting it done slowly," I chuckle, stroking his hand with my thumb and staring at the porcelain skin.

He nods, buying my story fairly easily for someone as nosy as Kyle is. I guess that's just a benefit to dating him, you get to earn his trust a hell of a lot easier. "Ken?" he asks softly. "Are you sure you're okay?" I look down to see his face filled with pure concern, my heart sinking at the sight. "You look like something's on your mind," he continues, bringing up his free hand and running it up my cheek and through my hair.

I nuzzle down into his touch and sigh to myself, giving him a small grin. I lean down and kiss him slowly, lacing our fingers together and pressing his hand back beside his head into the grass. I pull back from his lips a bit, watching his eyes flutter back open and sigh happily. Conundrum or not, this moment is good enough for now. It's just myself and Kyle, and I'm perfectly content just like that. "I love you," I say softly before I even realize it's left my mouth. As soon as the words leave, however, I can feel my face practically catch on fire.

He stares at me in shock, quite obviously not expecting me to be the first one to say it between the two of us. I watch him nervously before a small, warm smile creeps onto his face. "I love you, too," he murmurs happily, bringing my head back down and kissing me again. I wrap him up in my arms and refuse to let go of the moment, refuse to relinquish our kiss as our hands start traveling around each other, other articles of clothing clumsily being thrown to the wayside. I can feel that damning striking through my chest, pushing it down atop of Kyle's in a frenzy to get it off my mind. What matters is _now_. Right? I'm supposed to live for the moment, just let things come and go and roll off my back until I'm done with my mission...Right?

I give a harsh bite on Kyle's collarbone, relishing in him arching up against me with a heated gasp, kissing my ear and throat on his descent back to the ground. He whispers my name fervently as my hands travel around his body and I can't help but shudder, my mind brimming with excitement, lust, and happiness that happens every time we fall into each other like this. Every time I so much as _look_ at him. I pull back again, staring down at his slender face and his half-lidded eyes, that small smile curling on the edge of his lips that only I get to see. This is _my_ moment, and I'm completely ensnared within its grasp. But what happens after this? Where do we go from here? I beat down my doubts and dive back into absorbing Kyle like a second skin, letting every bit of him wrap around me. I know this won't last forever. I know it's only a matter of time before I'm forced to think again.

Maybe I need to grow the hell up. And maybe, just maybe, I need to follow Kyle's example and, for once, look at the big picture.

 


	14. Day 386 - September 18th

The dust is settling all around me and stifling me. I don't know how to handle it all anymore. The air is so thick I can't see anything but a few breaks of light in disjointed parts shining down on me. I can vaguely hear Kyle's voice calling out to me, but it's so far away, echoing around me in so many directions that I can't even begin to figure out where to start looking for him. I try to call back, finding my voice nothing but a hoarse rasp of panic. This is wrong. Something here is _wrong._ I feel myself slipping deeper and deeper into the dust, specks glimmering happily as they suffocate me, dragging me down into the deepest pits of nothingness.

I awake with a start, gasping for air in the light of morning. I look around a bit, seeing Kyle slumbering peacefully next to me, head leaning against my chest and soft mumbles escaping his lips. I gulp, draping my arm over him and looking around worriedly. Something uncomfortable seems to be constantly following me anymore. I have a constant tightening in my chest and it only increases whenever I manage to make a grasp at another barb. I take a long, shuddery breath, nuzzling into Kyle's hair.

"Mm you...kay?" Kyle half asks, trying to raise his head up and look at me but slumping down again in exhaustion. No doubt, the kid spent all of yesterday at school then work and then decided to spend the night with me. Not that I minded the company of course and I certainly made it worth his while, but he's running on fumes.

"I'm fine," I whisper, stroking his back. "Go back to sleep."

"Wake...me'up...need me..." he trails off with a yawn before he escapes reality once again and buries himself into my chest, soft little wisps of air sneaking through his nose. I can't help but smile down at him, tousling his absolutely disastrous curls. Sleep has matted half of them down against his head, the other half standing on end like a demented troll doll. No wonder it takes him a goddamn hour to get ready in the morning. I snicker softly, letting my eyes wander around the room before they land on my calender. My stomach lurches.

A month. I have one more month of this. Of waking up to Kyle's sleepy kisses and sloppy morning blowjobs that I've grown rather fond of. Of just looking forward to spending the day with him. Of _anything_.

I groan softly and lay my head back onto my pillow. Damien was right. I hate the bastard but a part of him was right. He warned me. He friggin' warned me I'd get to see sides of people that I hadn't before, and he was right. And it's not just Kyle. Stan texts me from Denver almost every day. Cartman still sends me pictures of gross or funny things he finds down in Houston. Hell, a shit ton of people from school still send me messages or try to keep me in the loop when before I was _nothing_ to these people. I was just the roadkill that was an inconvenience to their walkway. But now? Now they want to be involved in my life, they want to share their experiences with me. They want to be what I denied all of them for so goddamn long. Would any of _them_ remember me if I were to go in a month? Maybe. But they don't matter, not like the boy wrapped up in my arms. I care if he remembers me, if he'd miss me. Everyone else I couldn't care less, they'd just be a nice little side bonus.

I sigh, kissing Kyle's head and very gently maneuvering myself out from around him. I hop up to my feet, watching amusedly as his sleeping face turns into a grunting pout, reaching around for something before grabbing my pillow and slamming it up to his face. I shake my head, stepping around the mattress and grabbing my pajamas that were discarded the night before across the room by Mr. Eager over there. I lazily grab a t-shirt and slip it on, making my way out of my room with a long yawn. I bring my fingers up and scratch through my hair, making my way through the house.

"Hey, Kenny!" I hear.

I stop and peek in Karen's room, seeing her messing around with an old laptop Kevin managed to buy from a friend for her. "Hey, Kiddo," I nod.

"You n' Kyle are loud," she suddenly frowns. "Keep it down next time, will ya?"

Whoops. I snort and nod, "Sorry, Kar. Hey, you should tell Ky that whenever he wakes up," I encourage.

"I will!" she says firmly before turning back to her screen.

I have to stifle myself as I turn from her door and continue down the hall, way too eager for the shitshow that'll go down once that happens. People Kyle won't yell at catching him off-guard with embarrassing stuff is always a treat to watch. I make my way into the kitchen, finding my mom sitting at the table, my hastily repaired mug in her hands. I look a little closer, noticing they're shaking and I sigh. "You okay, Ma?"

She looks up at me in shock before meekly waving from behind her mug. "Hey, Hon."

"Hey," I raise my brow, walking over and pouring myself some of the coffee from her pot. I throw in a bit of sugar and take a sip, my nose scrunching and wishing for some of Harbucks' stuff. Damn Kyle got me spoiled. I make my way to the table and plop down next to her, finding her staring at a pile of papers. "What's that?" I ask.

"Well, yer dad ain't comin' back," she smiles sadly. I cock my head and she sighs. "Divorce papers," she picks them up and waves them a bit. "He's droppin' us off the map. Givin' me the house n' the truck n' you kids...well Karen at least," she laughs listlessly. "You n' yer brother are too old fer us t' be fightin' over..." she trails off and her shoulders droop.

This should be an ecstatic moment. The two of us should be rushing out and grabbing champagne and setting all of his old shit he left behind on fire, dancing around it like savages. But instead...something feels empty; broken and shallow like a washed up bottle buried in sand. I guess I just figured he'd crawl back eventually. After all, McCormicks usually end up migrating back to each other in the end. Or at least, that was the theory. "How do you feel?" I ask softly, reaching over and touching her arm.

"I dunno," she says blankly. "I knew it was comin'. Hell, I thought it was comin' when you were just a little guy..." she looks at me and shrugs tiredly. "Can't help but hate that it's happenin' though."

I nod a bit, "I can imagine it sucks, Ma."

"Yeah. Yeah it sucks," she agrees. "But..." she trails off again and takes a sip of her coffee, smacking her lips. "I dunno how to make it work, Ken."

I shrug, "You pick yerself up and ya get in the game, Ma. You'll figure it out."

She looks at me, eyes shining in the sunlight. "I don't think I can," she admits shakily. "I-I depended on that shit-head for _everything_. Now look at me!"

"Yeah, look at ya," I scowl. "Sittin' here drinkin' coffee, not high, and no bruises. Yer really sufferin' without 'im."

She pauses and looks back at me, dumbfounded for a moment before breaking into a wistful smile. "Aw, Ken," she grasps my arm on the table and shakes it a bit. "I dunno where I'd be without ya and yer brother n' sister." Probably dead from a coke-out at a truck stop by my calculations, but I'm not about to share that little inkling with her. She pauses and sighs, "Well, actually, I'd be right here," she shrugs, looking around our shabby kitchen a bit. "I don't know _how_ to take care of anythin' without help...Karen's still so young, Kevin's gone, n' yer out with Kyle all the time..." she smiles a bit at me and I feel a horrible, lurching guilt emanating from my stomach.

She has a point. I spend every free minute with Kyle that I can. I've really only seen her in passing these past few months, just assuming she was somewhere pill-popped out of her mind. I was a little too lost in my own personal bliss to pay much attention to what she was up to. Hell, if I hadn't of walked in here this morning and opted to stay in bed with Kyle, I may not have known my parents weren't gonna be married anymore with just a few signatures. I can't help but wince and shift a bit, taking a sip of my coffee and sighing. "Ma, I'm sor-"

"No," she holds up her hand to stop me. I blink at her for a moment and she shakes her head. "Don't be sorry fer bein' there fer him," she raises her brow. "Don't be like yer piece of shit father, Kenny." She leans back and shoves the divorce papers to the other end of the table and we watch them scatter to the floor with heavy eyes. "I'll figure it out," she finally says as the last paper flitters to a stop. "I had a life before 'im and I'll have one after, too. Don't be 'im, Kenny."

"I don't plan on it," I say quietly. "Which is why I need t' help you out more, Ma."

"No, ya don't," she says firmly. "Little Mr. Genius in yer room is who needs yer help," she gestures down the hall.

I can't help but snicker. "Trust me, I need him more than he needs me," I smirk.

"You'd be surprised," she raises her brows a bit. My face falls into confusion and she lets out a little laugh. "Ya know how me n' yer dad got together?" she asks. I shake my head. I have no fucking idea, I never really felt the need to pry into it all that much. "It was high school. Started out nice n' sweet like any other couple," she recalls fondly, looking up at the ceiling with dreamy eyes. I've never seen her with that expression and I don't quite know how to cope with it. "Yer dad would buy me flowers and tell me how pretty I was n' all that gooey crap," she waves it off dismissively and I can't help but laugh at her a bit.

"Can't imagine Pops bein' romantic," I comment.

"He was..." she nodded. "But both of us went in the wrong direction."

"No, he did by hittin' ya," I raise my brow, putting my chin in my palm.

She shakes her head, "I wasn't much better. Were it not for me gettin' pregnant with yer brother, we probably woulda split years ago." No shock there. Redneck families are often just the result of not wanting a child out of wedlock in my experience. She turns a bit and stares at me straight on. "Ya gotta take care of 'im, Ken," she says seriously.

"Who, Dad?"

"No, ya idiot, Kyle," she rolls her eyes. Oh. I knew that.

I blink at her a bit and narrow my eyes a bit, "Whaddya mean? I ain't gonna hit Kyle." Not in the non-fun way that is.

"I don't mean just that," she sighs. "Me n' yer dad...we forgot about each other when it came t' the important stuff. Hell, even the little stuff adds up. We didn't...work together," she winces. "N' that's when it all went t' Hell. Little stuff turned big n' within a few months we were fightin' nonstop...and it lasted fer over twenty years," she frowns.

I tongue over my lips a bit and gulp. "Me n' Kyle...don't have much t' fight about."

She smiles sadly, "Ya will. Things happen, Ken. Life starts. Like, ya don't have a job yet but he does n' he pays fer yer stuff? That's gonna be a fight one day."

I sink down a bit in my seat, twisting my lips. "You think?"

"He won't hate ya fer it," she assures me. "But you'll fight. N' if yer not willin' t'...t' git out there n' try to find yerself a job, then it ain't gonna work."

I smile a little and shrug, "I'm willin' to compromise fer 'im, Ma."

She nods, "Good. 'Cause when yer in a relationship, it's not just about you anymore. It's about both of ya. Ya _have_ t' do what's in both your guys' benefit."

Her words may as well have been a boulder smacking right into my goddamn nose. I listlessly scratch over my feather and sigh. Can't I do something that'll make _me_ happy if he's told beforehand and understands it? Who am I kidding, I already know the answer to that. It's a big fat 'no' stamped onto my forehead. But I want it. I want it so much that I can taste it. Kyle is such a big part of my life, but what kind of life would it be if I lived it intermittently? Hell, what if things go further for us? Could he deal with waiting for me to rise from the dead just so he can see me? What kind of life is that for either of us? I slink down into my seat, swishing my coffee around in my mug. "You're right," I say tiredly, though a part of me has no goddamn idea what the better option for the two of us would be.

"Of course I am," she smiles gently in a way I've never really seen from her. "What ya have is precious, Ken. Don't take it fer granted like me n' yer dad did."

I know I shouldn't. And I haven't been. I've been indulging in every moment I can with him, living a normal life vicariously through my small boyfriend. Although he's such an easy way to get barbs, I stopped caring about that a long time ago. Half the time I don't even notice when I get one, too busy caught in the whirlwind of Kyle's zest for life. I wish I had that. Though in a way, I suppose I do. All I want is to find myself living like any other mortal would. All I want is to be able to stand with Kyle, not constantly terrified of my inevitable death. I don't want to be waiting in Hell with Damien, watching Kyle through his powers as Kyle lives his life without me, just waiting for me to get back before picking dinner or deciding what we're going to do on our next date or what the fuck ever. How is that fair to him? My face drops. Should I just break it off? Make him hate me so losing me wouldn't be so hard?

Who the fuck am I kidding that wouldn't work. He can see right through me. He'd know I didn't mean it and he'd get mad at me for 'scaring him' and that'd be about the end of that talk. I sigh and put my head onto my arms, looking up at Mom tiredly. "Sorry it didn't work out for ya, Ma," I say.

She shrugs, "It happens. But it only happens 'cause people don't talk. Just don't mess up like we did, Kenny."

"I don't plan on it," I give her a small smile. She ruffles my hair a bit, giving me a look of pride that I haven't seen since I came home with an A on a math test in fifth grade. Dad didn't give two shits, but that sucker stayed on the fridge for a good three years. Maybe I can get that mom back, enjoy her while I'm still around...My heart feels like it's breaking. Kyle's not the only one who needs me. As much as she's trying to deny it, my mom needs me, too. Not to mention Karen. The three of them need me to keep them all in their own lines...But I don't know if I can handle that. Can I deal with now opening up to people and being their empathetic ear once again? Nine year old me did that to the best of his ability, but it drove him insane. Would I be right back where I started? Or have I finally grown up enough to be a man and learn to balance it all out? I have no idea, but I hate where this whole business has gotten me. I'm caught right in the middle of what I should do.

" _Say yer sorry, Kyle_!" I hear Karen shouting from the other end of the house.

Myself and Mom both look towards the hallway, seeing Kyle scurrying towards us with his hands over his ears. "Can't hear you, Karen!" he calls back and I notice a large splash of red over his face. He stands next to us and crosses his arms down at me and I can't help but give him a wide grin. "I'm going to kill you," he smiles mockingly at me.

"Good mornin', Kyle," Mom chuckles.

"Morning, Mrs. McCormick," he smiles at her.

"Not no more," she sighs. "Well, a few signatures away and not no more," she shrugs.

He blinks for a moment before his face falls in realization. "Oh, I'm sorry," he winces.

"Don't be," she waves the notion off. "Git yerself some coffee."

"I got it," I volunteer, pushing Kyle down into the seat next to mine. I get up and head over to the counter, feeling Kyle and Mom's stares on my back.

"Trying to suck up to me so I won't kick your butt?" Kyle teases.

I look back and wink, "I'm tryin'."

We all watch as Karen stomps into the kitchen and comes up beside Kyle, crossing her arms and 'hmphing' up a storm. I swear it's almost like _those_ two are related and I'm the odd man out here. "Kyle, say yer sorry!"

"I'm sorry, Karen, geez," he raises his hands in defeat.

"Good," she nods. "And fer your punishment, I get t' brush yer hair," she grins wildly. I snort. Karen loves his hair almost as much as I do.

He rolls his eyes amusedly, "Sure. Why not." She rips a brush out of her pocket and starts going to town, myself and Mom watching and trying to stop ourselves from cackling at his pained expressions as she works through knots galore. I walk over with his coffee and toss him his spare insulin from our cabinet and he shoots me a grateful smile. "Karen, hold up or I'll end up stabbing one of us in the eye," he waves her back. I watch her pouting, impatiently waiting for him to prepare his injection. He looks back at her and smirks, "Don't get huffy on me or I'll embarrass you in front of your mom and brother," he teases.

"You ain't got nothin' on me, Broflovski," she pokes him.

He snickers, quickly injecting his medicine and watching me amusedly as I shudder. I hate needles. Too many ways to die from them. I prefer to keep them as far away from me as I possibly can. "I dunno," he sings, tossing the needle into his disposal case, "From the way you and Ike are hanging out and talking so much, I figure-" He stops as she slams her hand over his mouth and glares at him. He pulls her palm off and smiles sweetly, "Quid pro quo, Karen."

She blinks at him and starts ripping the brush brutally through his hair, making him squeak and wince. "Keep yer French crap t' yerself," she mutters.

"Latin," he corrects before getting smacked over the head with her brush. He rubs the victim spot and glares at her a bit before just giving up and letting her continue her work.

I smirk at him and shoot him a wink, "Welcome t' the McCormick family. We're not a very nice bunch."

He shrugs. "Eh. Better a McCormick than a Broflovski. At least people can pronounce your name," he chuckles. I snort a bit, leaning over and kissing him briskly before Karen's barbaric treatment rips him away from me with a yelp. I watch the two of them and glance to my mom who's still smiling at me proudly. These three are everything to me, what the hell do I do? Can I really leave them when Mom's going to be alone, Kyle will lose his boyfriend, and Karen will lose her brother? I shudder a bit, looking to see Kyle's hand grasping mine, his eyes boring on me with as much concern as he can muster through his torment. I shoot him another smile and bring his hand to my lips, kissing his fingers softly and relishing in his scent. I have to figure this out. Mom was right, I need to do the option that will benefit _all_ of us...But the question is, which one will?

* * *


	15. Day 410 - October 12th

Two days. I have only _two_ fucking days left.

This last month has been nothing but a blind panic for me, trying like crazy to figure out just what it is I want. Everything keeps ripping me back one way or the other. Kyle and my family keep tugging on my arm to stay seated with them, but my nightmares are coming back. I'm waking up covered with sweat, checking my body for cuts and dismemberments, scaring the living hell out of Kyle when I scream in the middle of the night. I'm lost. I've never _been_ so lost. I need someone to come down and just give me the damn answer. If God used to send angels to deliver his messages, why the hell couldn't he let one mosey on down to me? I think I've earned it through dealing with his bullshit haphazard toy that is my mortality.

I'm so tired. I can't seem to gather any amount of energy for the life of me, literally. Kyle's noticed and he's been trying everything to get me out of my funk but even he can't give me the answers I need. Smart as he is, he's biased. Everyone is biased but me. I'm the only goddamn person on the planet who can figure out exactly how I want this situation to go down. The problem is, I _do_ know how I want it to go down: I want to be like Kyle or my family. I just want to live a normal life. If I could just squeeze that out of the deal somehow, it'd be a no-brainer. But dying day in and day out wears so heavily on you. This last year has been pure bliss. I didn't have to worry about trucks swerving out of the street and hitting me. I didn't need to try to hide from lightening. The odds were finally in my favor. I didn't have to do anything but _live_.

Now though? Now I have to choose which method in which I want to die.

I stare at Kyle across from me talking to Stan on the phone, rolling his eyes enough that I don't know how they haven't plopped out and bounced into the street. He looks at me and does a little mocking face and I force a smile upon my own.

"Stan? Stan shut the fuck up," he says firmly with a growl. "Dude, you're fine. Wendy's fine. You two are gonna be fine, okay?" He pauses before leaning his head back and groaning softly. I can't help but laugh. Hours away and Stan is still driving Kyle batshit insane with his Wendy drama. I love watching his reactions to Stan's utter stupidity. He's much more subtle with my own moments, but when it comes to Stan, he's a one-man show. He leans back up, mouthing 'sorry' to me and I wave him off. We came out for coffee, it's not like it's something that I spent six months planning ahead for. "Stan?" he asks. "Stan stop for a- Dude you're not listen-," he sets his face in a grim line before flickering his eyes to me. The green suddenly gets widened into a mischievous tone and I am beyond intrigued. "Kenny," he says dramatically into the speaker. "Ken, I'm on the phone, get your hand out of my pants." I quirk my brow in amusement, a strange part of me feeling honored to be his alibi. "Goddammit Ken put my pants back on!" he exclaims, winking at me and smirking at his phone. "I...I...o-oh..." he feigns a moan that nearly has me in hysteric tears. "Stan...Stan, Ken has my dick in his mouth so I think I should call you ba-" he stops and pulls the phone from his ear, grinning proudly at me. "Gee. He hung up for some reason," he feigns a pout and I burst into laughter, slamming my head down on my arms on our table.

"You, Broflovski, deserve an Oscar for that one," I chortle.

"Meryl Streep ain't got shit on me," he snorts. He waits for me to calm down before reaching over and grasping my hand. "Ken?"

"Yeah?"

His playfulness dies down in his eyes and I can feel my own doing the same. I hate when he gets that look. That worried stare. "Kenny...what's going on?" he asks slowly.

I clear my throat and shrug, taking my free hand and downing down more coffee. "Whaddya mean?"

"You know _exactly_ what I mean," he insists. "You've been getting distant again," he winces. "Did I do some-"

"NO!" I exclaim and he flies back a bit in shock, scanning over me and biting his lip. I drop my tenseness and sigh, shaking my head. I don't want him to blame himself for anything. I don't want him to think that he's the reason I'm upset, but I don't know what to tell him. I can't tell him the truth, he'll get angry and sad and I just don't know if I can deal with that. "Ky, you didn't do _anything_ wrong, I swear," I say quietly. "Things are just...weird for me lately."

He stares at me concernedly and nods, "Can you tell me why? Maybe I can help."

I give him the best half-smirk I can manage, "You can't," I tell him. And it's true. I hate that it is...but therein lies the issue.

"How do you know I can't?" he asks softly.

I shrug, "It's really _really_ personal. And it's just something that I'm trying to deal with and...don't have a lot of time to get to my answer."

He blinks confusedly, "Wait, you're on a time limit?"

I nod. "It's a long story, and it's one that...I _have_ to keep to myself." He looks at me skeptically and I grab his hand with both of mine. "Kyle, I swear it's nothing against you. It's nothing but a personal...demon," I wince a bit. "Can you just trust me?"

He stares at me a moment more before nodding, "I always trust you." Damn, Kyle. This may be the one time that I betray that trust. But I don't know. I look down at the table in defeat, stroking his hand lightly with my thumb. "Is there...anything I can do to help you?" he asks. "Anything at all?"

I look up to see him staring at me like I'm a wounded puppy. He looks just as helpless as I feel. I sink down a bit into myself, glancing back down at our hands guiltily. The thing is, he's the smartest person I know. If _anyone_ could give me the answer, it'd be him. But I can't just come out and say 'hypothetically if I wanted to die forever, would you be chill with that?'. There's just too much bias involved. Hell, he'd probably make a deal with Damien to keep me on Earth just knowing how he is. I guess the only way to approach this is utter vagueness. Because, like it or not, I need his help. I've _always_ needed his help but it's become much more apparent these last seven months with him. "Okay...can I ask you a question?" I look back up at him, feeling my own desperation leaking off onto him.

"Anything," he nods briskly, brightening a bit from the prospect of me actually opening up to him. Oh geez.

I clear my throat, "Let me preface this first by saying...this isn't a lead-up to a break up," I say firmly. His face falls a bit and I shake my head. "Kyle, I'm **not** breaking up with you, I swear. The only way you're getting rid of me is if _you_ want that."

"I don't!" he busts out, sounding like he's fearing for his life.

"Dude, dude," I try to smile at him. "Calm down. Now..." I tongue over my lips, trying to think of the best way to approach this. There's a lot of options. I could ask him hypothetically which choice he would make right off the bat, but I already know his answer. He'd stay on Earth. Have to play it vague. "If you had to choose between...love and convenience," I wince a bit. "What would you choose?"

He raises his brow a bit, "Whaddya mean? Like...between keeping a long distance relationship or breaking it up to find someone local?"

"In a way?" I shrug.

He stares at me for a moment in thought before his face contorts into a small smile. "I couldn't."

My heart sinks. He's the smart one. He can't not have the answer! Besides, I figured he'd say 'love hands down' like any goddamn normal person and that'd be the end of it. I thought he'd convince me through simplicity. Damn him. "You couldn't?" I repeat.

He shrugs, grasping my hand tightly. "I think they're interchangeable," he states. I cock my head at him and he chuckles softly. "I think love _is_ convenient. Once you find it, you don't have to keep looking around for it. Even if it's hard sometimes to keep a hold of, it's not going to just run away from you without a damn good reason," he elaborates, taking another sip of his drink.

"You think so?" I whisper.

He nods. "Look at Stan and Wendy," he waves towards his phone a bit. "Those two idiots are head-over-heels for each other. Wendy's off at goddamn Wellesley all the way across the country and Stan's just a few hours that-a-way," he points towards the street. "But their relationship isn't straining from the distance, it's straining because they're fucking idiots," he rolls his eyes and I huff out a small laugh. "And it's not even straining, it's the smallest shit that gets them caught up. But at the end of the day, they haven't had an actual break up for like, two years," he shrugs. "Because they _always_ know that when shit goes down, they'll still support each other, even when they're on opposite teams."

I nod slowly, tonguing over my lips. "But then why is it so hard for them?"

"Because they're human?" he raises his brow. "Not every decision is perfect. Every single thing we do has a consequence. But when one of them makes a bad decision, so long as it doesn't crush the other one, they still fall into each other. Love isn't perfect and neither is the idea of convenience. But they work together in a way that makes it _seem_ perfect. That's why it's so great," he shrugs.

I blink at him slowly, unraveling at the seams at his speech. "You sure you're not majoring in philosophy?"

He snorts a bit and shakes his head. "Nope. Still fuckin' physiology because I apparently hate myself."

I chuckle, "What the hell even is that? I thought it'd be easy. I thought it was like...anatomy shit."

"In a way it is," he shrugs. "Basically you break down molecular components and see how they flow together to make an organism function. It's kinda fascinating."

"Oh my god I'm dating such a _dweeb_ ," I say dramatically, shooting him a small wink.

He looks at me, completely unamused. "It's nice to see how everything works together," he explains. "Everything needs something to make it function. You take one tiny component out and the entire system shuts down. It's kind of amazing," he grins, his eyes beaming in that nerdy excitement of his that I can never figure out if it's worthy of a barrage of eyerolls or downright adorable. "The fact that nature itself designed us so perfectly but by complete accident...It's a goddamn miracle that we exist at all, ya know?" he shrugs. I take a long breath and nod in agreement. He's right. It is a miracle. But I guess even miracles have their fuck ups like yours truly. "I mean, it goes right back into your question," he says, chomping on an ice cube. "Without love, the convenience factor isn't there. It's a _burden_ to be in a relationship with someone you're just 'eh' on. And if the convenience of falling hard for a person isn't there, then there's no love. Everything has to flow or the entire system is fucked," he reiterates.

But how can things flow with me dying all the damn time? That isn't convenient for anyone. Would Kyle still consider me convenient? Would he still love me? I sigh irritably. This isn't getting me anywhere. "Kyle," I say, grabbing his full attention yet again. "What if...my system was missing a component?"

"What...what do you mean?" he narrows his eyes in befuddlement.

"What if my system was fucked and...I died?" I say point blank. "My power vanishes and I just drop dead and don't come back. What then?"

I notice his stance tensing immensely, eyes frantically scanning over my face. "Ken...a-are you dying?" he asks timidly.

I force myself to shake my head, though a part of me is screaming not to do so. "It's hypothetical. That's all."

He looks at me suspiciously, glancing down at our hands and shrugging. "Well...I don't know what'd happen to you, but I'd lose both love and convenience," he says softly. "There's only one of you and I already found you. I'd be hard-pressed to just let go of that with no logical reasoning as to why I'd lost you," He blushes a bit with a small shrug. I bite my lip furiously, tears beading in my eyes. I try hiding my face, looking everywhere but at him. Why did he have to say that? Why _why_ did he have to do this to me? I start shaking and I can feel him looking up at me, the worry streaming between the two of us like a thick ribbon. "Ken? Jesus, are you okay?" he asks in a panic, moving over to the chair between us and scooting closer to me. I feel a warm tear worm its way down my face and Kyle's hand coming up and brushing it away. I finally find it in myself to look at him, his eyes brimming with apprehension. "What's wrong?" he asks.

I shake my head, taking my hands off of his and clasping around him, barely able to stop sobs from sneaking out onto his shoulder. He grabs back around me, a hand soothingly stroking through my hair. He coos me and pets me, trying desperately to calm me down. I can just feel how confused he is, he's never dealt with me like this before. To be honest, neither have I. I just cling onto him tighter, burying my face deep into his neck and letting tears leak onto his skin.

"I gotcha, I gotcha," he murmurs, laying his head down on top of mine, still stroking my hair and mindlessly swaying me back and forth.

"I'm sorry," I manage to whisper.

He pauses for a minute before kissing my temple. "Don't be, Dude. It's nice to know you're not an emotionless automaton here to enslave humanity," he teases lightly. I let a small laugh break through my crying, shaking my head against his shoulder.

"I hate this," I murmur.

"Hate what?"

I lean back up, staring at him and wincing at the pity on his face. He gently brings a hand up and wipes tears from my cheek and under my eyes, watching me carefully. "Being what I am," I admit. "Being..." I fumble around, looking for my word.

"Different?" he finishes. I nod. Damn, he really _can_ read me like a book. "Kenny, everyone is different. You got the short end of the stick with your discrepancies, but you're not the only person who feels alone. Now whatever the fuck is making you do this," he holds up his tear-soaked thumb, "You have to take it step by step and solve it. Either it destroys you or you don't let it," he says firmly. "You're not 'The boy who keeps dying'. You're fucking Kenny, okay? Don't let this dictate who you are like this," he pleads.

I sniffle a bit and nod, looking down at our legs for my answers. My head is pounding. My chest hurts. Everything just feels like it's out to get me, it's just like before. Only this time, I'm the one that's causing all of it. I can't blame God for this one. "Kyle?" I whimper out and he tilts my chin up to look at me head-on. "What...what do you think of when you think of an angel?" I ask, swallowing a dry breath.

He stares at me before looking up at the sky in thought. He's silent for a good while, his hands mindlessly stroking over my own before he takes a deep breath. "I think of someone who did more for the world than it deserves...And all they got from it was a lousy pair of wings."

Time stops. _Everything_ stops. Nothing on Earth seems to move but myself and Kyle, lost in a grayscale moment that threatens to tear me asunder if I don't grip onto the boy tighter than I have been. He cocks his head at me and I gulp again, nodding briskly. "I love you," I manage to croak out.

He smiles softly, "I love you, too," he leans forward and kisses me. I grasp into his hair and pull him closer, demanding his warmth and comfort to envelop me completely. Letting myself be reminded that as of now, I'm still living, and Kyle is pushing me to keep that going. I'm not going to make him choose. I'm not going to make _myself_ choose. The answer is blatantly clear as I dip my tongue into Kyle's coffee-flavored mouth, relishing in the sweet taste mingling with the salt of stray tears worming their way from my eyes.

I want out of this deal.


	16. Day 411 - October 13th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter bumped us from a rated T to an M because I needed to stretch out the chapter. Good job, me, pft. Thanks for reading!

There's something about the way Kyle and I work together that has yet to stop blowing my mind. Something about us just syncs. He can read my mind like he's freakin' Sylvia Browne. I can calm down his fiery temperament with just holding his hand or quietly telling him it's okay. It's something that I've never experienced before, and something that I just can't imagine losing. Even now, watching his sweat-soaked skin as he slowly rides on top of me, I'm in utter astonishment at how well we form together.

His hand comes up and strokes along my marker before cupping my face. He shoots me a small smile, face dappled with golden beams in the early light of day. He's glowing. Everything about him is on complete fire and I am the helpless moth being drawn into his light. I suppose that's what we've always been: Myself lost and wandering, only guided through the night by his determination to stave through whatever life had to offer him. I don't want to lose this. I _can't_ lose this.

I lean my head back, hips jerking up into him and harsh groans breaking through my throat. He whimpers softly, fingers shaking against my face. I grab his hand and pull him down towards me, the two of us staring at each other as we continue to grind against one another.

"Ken..." he whispers, leaning his forehead down atop of mine. "Fuck, Ken..." He lets out a long high pitched whine, his free hand working on himself brushing against my stomach. I relish in the heat, in the friction that he's creating, that _only_ he can make for me. "I-I...I'm gonna..."

"Come on," I urge, biting his throat and grabbing his hips, greedily continuing to move him along. "Come on, Kyle," I whisper into his ear.

He pants a bit, biting his lip and his eyes slamming shut. "Kenny, _shit_ ," he breathes before I feel him streaming warmly onto my skin, his body convulsing around me in a beautiful sporadic rhythm. I hold onto him tightly as his body begins to try to give up on him, feeling every ounce of love and passion come screaming out of me with a long moan of his name.

I shudder, clinging onto him tighter as he lies atop of me, both of us panting and nuzzling against each other despite the stifling heat lied out between us. He finally pulls back, kissing me briskly before very genially moving off of my hips and collapsing beside me. I peel off my spent condom, tying it off and tossing it over towards my trash can, missing but not giving half enough of a fuck to go remedy the problem. I'm way too invested in staring at the redhead beside me. He creaks his eyes open and smiles at me softly and I can't help but return it. He groans, reaching behind him and grabbing a towel from beside the mattress, lobbing it onto my stomach listlessly. "Sorry," he murmurs sleepily into my shoulder as he moves his head up onto it.

I can't help but snort a bit. He apologizes every goddamn time, as though I don't enjoy it. I manage to wipe of the mess he made of both our torsos and throw the towel back to the floor, grabbing him and holding him tightly in my arms. He sighs contentedly, burying his face into my skin. My fingers mindlessly play with his sweat-licked curls, taking a deep breath of the minty scent that seems to follow Kyle wherever he goes. I can't stop myself from staring at him. How the hell could I think for one minute that it'd be okay to leave him? How could I think that'd benefit me in the _slightest_?

I know that a part of me will hate my decision. I know that some deep-rooted part of my soul with loathe the fact that I've chosen eternal torment just to stay with Kyle...but I'm okay with that. I'm finally finding _some_ form of peace in the boy cuddled against me, and losing that would just be an abysmal waste. If we can find a compromise, if he can wait for me, then I can live for him. It seems to me that any other option would be ludicrous.

"What's on your mind?" he asks, backing up a bit and blinking at me slowly.

I shrug, "Just...thinkin'."

"Hm," he muses with a small nod. He strokes over my arm and sighs tiredly. "Are you feeling any better?"

I give him a smirk, "That trick with your tongue _always_ makes me feel better." I can't help but cackle as he scoffs and slaps my arm a bit, blushing in that embarrassed way that I get so rarely out of him anymore. I calm down and watch him for a bit, the way his nose is scrunched in frustration and his eyes are flittering around as he mutters to himself. "Can I ask a question?"

He looks back at me and shrugs, "Sure. If it's about the tongue thing though I swear to God I'll-"

"Nah," I wave my hand dismissively. "I ain't talented enough to do that so I ain't gonna try to woo you with my own pathetic attempts." He tries to scowl but ends up laughing to himself and waving me along. "Why me?" I ask softly.

He cocks his head with a small grin. "Why you what? Why do I have a thing for you?" I nod. "Lookin' to stroke your ego, huh?"

I roll my eyes amusedly, "You know my ego's pretty fuckin' big on its own. You just give it some bonus points," I wink. "But nah, I mean, if we were thirteen, what the hell made you go 'oh my god get inside me' then?"

"Ew," he scrunches his nose in distaste. "Dude, I know we were the same age, but that just sounds creepy." I laugh a bit and shrug, watching as he sets his lips thoughtfully. "I dunno," he says honestly. "There was always this...air of mystery about you," he waves his hand dramatically. "It just intrigued me and next thing I knew I was goddamn obsessed with you," he rolls his eyes.

"You hid it pretty well for being 'obsessed'," I tease. He was right earlier though, my ego is on cloud nine here from the term.

He shrugs. "I can be subtle when it's necessary. I don't _like_ to be but it was either that or potentially deal with a humiliating rejection and Cartman taunting me about it for the rest of my life," he rolls his eyes again.

I nod, "Yeah, you ain't subtle in this room I'll tell ya that much."

He cocks his brow superiorly, "Then maybe I should calm it down. Just be meek and shy and not want to touch anything."

I frown deeply at him and get a smirk in return. "You change anything in this bedroom and I will lose it, Broflovski. I swear it." He chuckles, kissing my cheek a bit and propping himself up on his arms on his stomach, trying to crack his back a bit and groaning. I watch him struggling before rolling up and straddling over his hips on my knees, pressing my palms into his spine. He looks like he's about to protest before he moans and sinks into my pillow, his eyes slipping shut. I've never done this before and I don't quite know _what_ possessed me to do it, but I feel like I owe him the world. The very least I can give him is a shoddy back rub. "Hard dealin' with somethin' so grand shoved up your ass, ain't it?" I can't help but tease.

He scoffs, listlessly swatting back at me before just giving into my hands again. "Drop the ego, Ken. It doesn't suit you." I chuckle, leaning down and kissing the back of his neck before continuing my work. He looks back at me over his shoulder, "So, why _me_?" he asks.

I pause my hands, looking at him for a long while. How do I even answer that? Because he made my life worth living? Because he treated me like a person and not just a prop? Because he was the only thing keeping me going at _all_? Because he encouraged me to be a better person even when I was waste-deep in my own hatred? My shoulders slink a bit and I keep rubbing his back, feeling the toned muscle hiding under the pale skin, trailing my finger down a little cluster of freckles. "I wish I could tell you," I smile with a shrug. "Honestly, it was a split-second decision when you admitted how _you_ felt about me...but it just felt right, ya know?" I wince.

He smiles, "Gaaayyyy."

I smack the back of his head, listening to him laughing with a few chuckles of my own. "Keep that shit up and I'll shove my dick so far up your ass girls will become _completely_ invisible to you."

"I'm not seeing a downside in that promise," he bats his lashes flirtatiously. I shake my head as he laughs again, his eyes drifting to my clock. "Oh shit!" he exclaims, rolling over and pushing me off of his back.

"What? What's wrong?" I blink.

"Class," he groans, grabbing his discarded clothes from around the room and hurriedly throwing them on. "I'm late for goddamn biology!"

"Well why did you decide on having a morning romp then, you retard?" I laugh, hopping to my feet and tossing him his jeans, watching him struggling to pull them up his hips.

He raises his brow, "Oh, yeah, like you were complaining."

"Didn't say that," I raise my hands in defense, slipping on my own boxers and jeans. I watch him rip his phone out of my charger and jam it into his pocket, nearly falling over himself as he tries to put on his sneakers. I walk up and hold him steady so he doesn't break his goddamn neck, using my fingers to try to tame his insane sex hair.

He slips his shoes on finally and messily ties them, searching his pockets frantically and snagging his car keys. "Okay, sorry, love you," he says, hurriedly kissing me and heading towards my door. "I'll come by after classes!" he shouts on the way out.

"Can't wait!" I call after him, laughing as I hear him rushingly telling Mom and Karen good bye. I sigh, walking over and shutting my door, licking over my lips. As much as I hate to see him go, it's a good thing. I have something that I need to do and I'd prefer if Kyle never learned about it to begin with. "Damien?" I call out, locking my door and stepping away from it.

I watch as a black inky puddle appears on my floor, the dark-haired son of a bitch himself rising up and cocking his brow. "You rang, Master?" he says sarcastically.

"Damien, take it away," I gesture to my marker. No beating around the bush, I only have one more barb to go and I'm fuckin' finished. I'm not taking the chance.

He looks at it and then my face, narrowing his eyes in confusion. "I'm sorry, do what now?"

"Take it away," I reiterate. "I don't want to do this anymore. I want to go back to how I was."

He gapes at me a bit, clearing his throat. "And...why is it you wish to go back?"

"Kyle," I say firmly. "Kyle and my mom and my sister need me. I can't abandon them. Not like this."

He nods a bit, crossing his arms and staring at me thoughtfully. The fuck is he waiting for?! I gesture towards the feather frantically, raising my brows at him to tell him to get the goddamn lead out. "Ken...I can't," he shrugs.

My jaw drops and the room falls deathly silent. "Can't?" I repeat, my heart thudding out of control. "The fuck do you mean you can't?!"

He frowns, "You're in a _contract_ , McCormick."

"So break it," I say through gritted teeth, the worry inside my chest trying to spiral into dangerous levels.

He shifts a bit and sighs tiredly, "I knew this would happen," he mutters. "I fucking _told_ my dad that you'd change your goddamn mind. You fuckin' fickle mortals and your bullshit I swear."

I can feel my eyes narrowing to precariously threatening levels, even though I know well enough that I'll never be able to exactly take down the antichrist. A part of me is starting to become angry enough to make the attempt, though. "Damien, fix it!" I order.

"I _can't_ ," he says again, stepping up to me and poking my marker. "You've been fulfilling the terms of the contract, McCormick. You're so fucking nestled into it that you're dancing on the lettering," he rolls his eyes. "It's completely out of my hands, as well as my father's. The _only_ one who can change it is God and He doesn't talk to you mortals before you go to Heaven," he waves his hands around dramatically.

I blink, running my fingers through my hair in frustration. Shit, shit _shit_! "Send me to Heaven to talk to him then!" I plead.

He snorts, "You think I can do that? We can't send you fuckers up to Heaven, God has to fucking approve of it, _then_ He comes to us and says to do so. You're in His hands, McCormick, not mine."

"No, no, no, no, NO!" I shout, pacing around my room, everything piling onto me in a frenzy. "Jesus fucking _Christ_ I...I can't die!"

"Why are you just _now_ fucking changing your mind?" he demands.

I whirl around and look at him, finding myself sniffling and him recoiling from me a bit, staring at me confusedly. "Because Kyle was _right_ ," I gasp out. "Angels aren't _anything_ but people with fucking wings! And if I'm one of them, I'm alone again!"

"According to _you_ , you preferred to be alone," he cocks his brow.

"I was wrong, okay?!" I look around my room blankly, feeling like breaking down all over again. The worst part is how I wish that Kyle was here to hold me together. I look down at my floor and put my hands over my eyes, shaking my head. "You were right," I croak out.

He pauses before chuckling softly. "I often am. But what about?"

I look back up at him and wipe my eyes with my arm. "Y-you said...people would change. That _I_ would change. A-and...you were right. My life has fucking purpose for once and...FUCK!" I shout, walking over to my mattress and slamming down onto it, burying my face back into my hands. "I can't die. I _can't_. It's not fair to them. It's not fair to _me_." The room falls stoic once again, the only thing in the air is my damn labored breathing. I can't believe it. I'll never hug my mother again. I'll never listen to Karen telling me about her friends at school again. I'll never get to see Kyle smile after kissing him again. I fucked up. I fucked up so _badly_. Now eternity will be spent waiting for them. Waiting for them to get to me, if they even do. What if they end up in Hell? What if I _never_ see them again? The thought is enough to nearly make me burst into tears before Damien's voice breaks back through the air.

"McCormick," he says firmly. I look up at him through my burning eyes and bite my lip, hoping he's got my answer. "I don't know how to break it," he says softly, much kinder than I've ever heard come out of the demon's mouth. "But...if you can find a way...then you'll go back to normal...well. As normal as _you_ are anyway."

"That's what I want," I nod, getting back to my feet and pacing in front of my mattress. "I-I don't _care_ if I'm dying day in and day out. A few hours a day with them is better than nothing."

He nods subtly, sighing. "Are you _sure_ that's what you want? What of your family? Or Kyle? Can _they_ deal with losing you time and again?"

I stop and stare at him, pushing my bangs out of my face. "My family...is still blissfully unaware," I chuckle humorlessly. "But Kyle...he remembers," I whisper.

He looks at me in surprise, "He remembers you dying?"

"No," I shake my head. "But he remembers me being gone. A-and he said he's going to try to _believe_ what I told him. I told him the truth and he's ignoring every logical bone in his body telling him that I'm a fucking nut job..." I trail off and gulp. Convenience. Will we lose that? This is so fucking hard. Every bit of this is just _so. Fucking. Hard._ "Maybe if I tell him...maybe if I remind him everyday...Maybe we can still be happy, ya know?" I shrug.

He smirks at me a bit, "Wow. Optimism. That's something I haven't heard from you in quite some time."

I look back at him and smack my lips a bit tiredly. "Damien...what do I do?"

"I don't know," he says honestly. "Maybe once you die and get up there," he points to my ceiling, "Then maybe you and God can talk. But I wouldn't put my money on it. He's a stubborn fucker." My shoulders sink again and I flinch as he walks up and puts and awkward, clawed hand on my shoulder. "Think it through, McCormick," he says quietly. "There's got to be something you can do."

"No ideas on your end?" I whisper.

He shakes his head. "I'm not aware of the possible annulments...I'm only aware of what your terms were. I'm sorry."

I take a long, trembling sigh and nod. "Okay," I croak out.

"You have one more day, Ken. You'll figure it out," he assures me before sinking down into the floor. I watch after him, tears leaking down onto the spot in freeform. I look around my empty room, hearing Karen and my mom laughing about something down the hall. My heart sinks even lower than I thought possible and I put my face back into my hands.

I fucked up.


	17. Day 412 - October 14th

This is bad. This is _so_ bad.

Damien told me I only have a little bit of time before my final barb is scratched on and I just drop dead on the ground. I don't know what to do. My mind is just riddled with complete panic. I wish my wings would appear right now on Earth and I could just rip them off and have them run over with a car.

Unfortunately, I'm having to settle for just avoiding people. Avoiding the good deeds I can do and whatnot. Even _more_ unfortunate is the fact that Kyle is the one person I couldn't avoid. I didn't want to. If these _are_ my last moments, I want to be with him, not just holed up in my room staring at the clock like I used to do for so damn long. I feel his hand slip into mine as we make our way through the woods outside of Starks, complete silence billowing around us in a way that I should be enjoying, but I just can't. I've been so desperate to lead us far and away from civilization that I've brought us up through a mountain, the both of us dodging rocks and fallen tree branches as we hike higher. I've been keeping nearly silent all day, and Kyle's noticed, but hasn't made a huge deal about it. He knows that when I want to talk to him, I do.

"You sure you're okay?" his voice piques the air with that same damn question he's been asking for the last few hours. I look at him and offer a small nod, to which he sighs at. "Ken, I know you said whatever's been bothering you is personal...but to be frank you're scaring the shit out of me," he frowns.

I take a deep breath, looking down at the ground guiltily. I can imagine. If he was this reclusive I'd be pretty worked up over it, too. I probably seem damn suicidal...And I guess in some sort of sense that's completely true. "Don't be scared," I manage to work out.

He shakes his head and lets out another sigh. "I can't help it," he admits. "You acting like this is just...well, terrifying," he winces. "I feel like you're plotting something or something is just eating you the fuck up."

He has no idea how on the money he is.

I offer a listless shrug, "I'm okay," I assure him. "I'll be just fine..."

He stares at me for a few moments before dropping his eyes to the ground, his hand tightening around my own. I link our fingers through each other's and squeeze him back. Everything about this is wrong. This moment should be serene. It should be something that makes my heart sing praises of how fantastic life is. But no. Instead I'm stuck in an endless loop, terrified of death once again. Kyle said he was afraid of dying, but I don't think his fear holds a candle to the ever-burning bonfire that is my own.

I help him hop over a large branch, cursing up a storm as a limb smacks his face and I watch him with a small smile. I'll miss that. How he can go from over-worrisome lovable boyfriend to muttering how he'd stab Gaia in the cunt if he met her face to face. He finally stops brushing off his skin and locks eyes with me, raising his brow. "What?"

"Nothin'," I shake my head. "Just..."

"Thinking?" he guesses. I nod. He leans his head against my arm. "Kenny, what's going on? You don't have to be specific but...you know if you're like, planning to kill someone or something you need to tell me so I can help hide the body, here."

"You'd hide a body for me?" I smirk a bit.

He looks up and shrugs. "You don't have many enemies so I'm hoping the victim is Cartman. Given there's no way in hell the two of us can lift him. We're scrawny as fuck."

"Stan would help," I chuckle.

He nods, "That he would. But seriously," the frown falls back onto his face. "What is it?"

I sigh a bit, continuing to pull him along the trail. "Have you ever felt like you made a great choice, but then it turned on you and fucked everything up?"

"Of course," he says softly. "Ken, we all have. It's just part of life."

Or death in my case.

I bristle a bit, biting my lip. "But I mean... _really_ fucked up. Like, something someone would never forgive?"

He's silent before he yanks my arm and turns me around to face him, his brows knit in worry. "What did you do?" he asks.

I slink a bit, swinging our still-conjoined hands between us. "I fucked somethin' up, Kyle," I admit quietly. "I can't tell you what it is, you'd never forgive me."

He takes a deep breath, looking at me with a large dose of concentration on his features. "Ken, unless you stand here and tell me that you mass-murder puppies as a hobby, I'd forgive you for just about anything..." he pauses and I watch in confusion as his face falls into complete devastation. "Wait," he whispers. "Did...did you cheat on me?"

My jaw drops at the insinuation and I clasp around him desperately. "No!" I exclaim. "God no, Kyle! Never ever _ever_ ," I insist, holding him tighter. I can feel him sigh in relief before he backs out of my arms and goes back to staring at me.

"Then what is it?" he asks. "I'd figure you could trust me by now!"

He looks crushed. He looks absolutely torn apart, all by my hand. And if I leave him, if I fucking die right now, that look would never leave his face. It'd haunt me. Heaven would literally become my personal Hell. "I do," I say, my voice cracking. "I trust you more than _anyone_...But this is just something that I have to deal with alone."

"We're a fucking couple, Kenny!" he reminds me. "We work _together_ and solve our problems. I know we're not married or some shit but after a lifetime as friends and almost eight months as a couple, it should count for something!" My mother's words start ringing in my ears, every bit of me drooping with a horrible, staunch guilt. I know he's right. I _know_ I should talk to him about it, but I don't want him to hate me. I don't want him to go to my final funeral and feel like I betrayed him. Feel like he can't trust anyone ever again...He looks up at me and his face falls from anger to misery, reaching up and wiping off my face. I look as he pulls his hand back and see tears smeared on his skin, completely unaware that they were falling to begin with. "Something...is killing you," he says quietly.

"It is," I whisper, hoping beyond hope that he catches the double meaning.

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "Then fucking come back from it," he mutters.

"What?" I raise my brow.

He looks back into my eyes and that striking green nearly has me doubling over from the fierceness lingering within. "If you can come back from the dead, then come back from _this_ ," he says, his own voice cracking as he displays my tears on his fingers again. "I can't lose you _again_ , Kenny," he pleads.

I blink at him. "You...you never lost-"

"Yes I fucking did!" he spits. "You cut me off, you cut _everyone_ off and you...acted like none of us mattered to you! You were walking around but you were a goddamn corpse. And then..." he pauses, his own tears welling in his eyes, my heart sinking like a stone. I can't be the one to make him cry. I _can't_. "Then you rose from the dead," he sniffles, wiping his eyes. "You started talking to us again. You...you opened up. You reminded me why I fell so fucking hard for you in the goddamn first place!" he shouts. I gulp, grating my lip furiously. I don't know what to do. I just don't know!

"Kyle, this time it's different," I say as firmly as I can accomplish, which isn't much. I'm shaking like I'm going through a massive withdrawal. And in a way, that's not too far from the mark.

"No it's _not_ ," he hisses. "Goddammit, Kenny...What the hell can I do here?!" he asks, raking his fingers through his hair. "Do what you can do and fucking get up from the dead again! If you'd just tell me what was going on I wouldn't be losing my mind right now but...but _fuck_ I just can't have you crawl back into that damn shell again!" he exclaims, the tears falling down his cheeks in droves now, though his voice is a hell of a lot stronger than I can manage to make mine out to be.

I stare at him for a few moments, my heart is far beyond the point of merely breaking. It's been completely shattered, splintered into tiny little shrapnel fragments that have lodged themselves into every inch of my body. No death has ever been this fucking painful before. "Kyle..." I whisper. "Do...do you want to leave me?"

"No, never. I don't," he says firmly. "And...even if you...fucking leave me again I won't be able to," he says through his teeth in an angry wisp. "I fucking love you. And I want to _help_ you through this, Ken. I don't want to be on the sidelines sliding you sandwiches just in the hopes that you'll talk to me again. I-I can't take it," he sobs before regaining his control, crossing his arms and trembling, his eyes darting off of mine onto the ground. He takes a shuddery breath and huddles further into himself. "If this wasn't something...that was hurting you so much I wouldn't be so adamant on you talking," he says quietly, a very frustrated tone dripping off his tongue. "I know we'll have secrets. I fucking _know_ that not everything needs to be spelled out for one another..." he looks back at me and the hurt on his face causes a giant lump to grow in my throat. "But if _I_ was having issues like you are right now...I'd tell you what was going on. Because I wouldn't want _you_ to suffer through it."

I take a deep breath, crossing my own arms and gulping down the lump, sniffling to myself. "Kyle, I love you." I say. "I love you...so _fucking_ much. A-and you're the reason I 'rose from the dead' the last time," I admit with a shrug.

He pauses, staring into my eyes. I can feel him doing what he does best: reading my goddamn mind once more. He takes a long, shuddery breath, wiping the tears from his eyes and straightening himself up. "Then let me be the reason this time, too."

I stare at him for a good long while, feeling the brisk air blowing our hair back to the mountain. Everything is breaking. He is, I am, and it seems like the entire _world_ is. I can't do this to him. I can't do this to _us_. It isn't fair on either end. "Kyle," I say gently, though my voice is wavering like like a goddamn tuning fork. "I'm going to die. For good."

He looks at me and his shoulders and jaw drop together, his eyes shining like a child's. "What?" He whispers. "But...but you said you weren't-"

"I lied," I reply thickly. "I wanted to stop coming and going...so I made a deal with the Devil and God. Today's...my last day," I shrug, focusing my attention onto a few fallen leaves flittering in the wind, not able to look at his face any longer. "It's why I was getting so nice. It's why I started opening up..." I sniffle. "But now I want...I want to _keep_ doing that. I want to stay, I want to stay with _you_ a-and my family...But I can't," my voice cracks pathetically and I sob, clasping my arms around each other. "I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry."

There's nothing but a chilling silence between us sans my embarrassingly loud, broken cries. This is it. This is all there is or ever was to us. This is where he storms away from me angrily for keeping this a secret, for nearly letting him watch me fall to the ground upon my death and knowing nothing about what was going to happen. I fucked up again.

I nearly yelp as his arms slowly circle around me, his face burying into my neck. "I'll wait," he whispers.

"H-huh?" I manage to work out.

"If you can come back from the dead...then I'll wait for you," he promises, clutching onto me tighter.

"T-this isn't...my normal stint, Kyle," I say, wrapping back around him and holding him as closely as I can manage. "This one is permanent."

He's silent for a moment before nuzzling deeper into my throat. "I don't care. I'll still wait. I said I'd try to believe you and I meant it...And I do," he says gently. "It took me...a _long_ time to convince myself of it but...you've never lied to me. And I refuse to believe you'd start with something like that."

This hurts. I didn't know something could hurt so fucking _badly_. I bury myself into his hair, clinging onto him desperately. "You can't wait," I rasp out. "You'll be waiting the rest of your life, Kyle."

He's silent for a moment before shrugging, "So be it."

I push him back out of my arms, grabbing around his shoulders and glaring at him as much as I can muster. "No," I say firmly. "Kyle, you can't. That's a waste of your fucking life. I wasted mine, don't do the same thing," I beg. He can't do that. He can't be wallowing around just waiting for me to pop back up. I bite my lip and take a long, angry breath. I'm not frustrated at him, I'm mad at me but I don't know how to redirect it away from him. "Why aren't you pissed at me?" I demand.

He blinks before shrugging, "I trust you," he winces. "If you were doing what you thought was right then...you had your reasons. And I'm not going to stand here and pretend like I understand your situation, because I don't," he rubs his arms tiredly. "If it were anyone else telling me this shit, I'd be pissed off...but with you...I don't know. I just don't think you'd let me down again. My gut is telling me everything's going to be okay and I'm going by it."

I look at him, completely dumbfounded. Kyle isn't the type to lie back and just accept shit like this. He fights. He gets furious. He yells and screams until his face turns blue. Why won't he do that to me? What's holding him back? I feel like if the situation were reversed, I'd be losing my mind at him. I take a deep breath and grab him back in my arms again, swaying him around gently. This is wrong. This is all wrong. He should be hitting me, swearing up a storm. He should be tossing me right down the side of this fucking mountain...

Wait.

I back up a bit, looking towards the side of the trail with wide eyes. He pulls back from my chest and cocks his head. "Ken? What is it?"

I look down at him and grasp his chin in my hands, licking over my lips. "Kyle, you trust me?"

He nods, "Yes."

"A-and...you'll wait for me?" Another nod. I bite my lip anxiously, my mind fleeting over my options. I have no choice. This is the only chance I have, that _we_ have.

After all, what kind of angel would commit one of the _ultimate_ sins?

I look back at my dumbfounded boyfriend and shake him a bit and his eyes get wide with a tinge of panic. "Ken, what are you-"

"Shh," I put my finger to his lips before smiling at him a bit. "Wait for me," I whisper, leaning down and capturing his lips. He grunts a bit in surprise before his eyes slip shut and he slowly returns it, both of us lost in each other for the moment, every ounce of fear and anger being shoved aside for just the two of us. His hand comes up and cups my chin, pressing against me harder. He's scared. He won't admit it out loud but he's terrified of what'll come next. I have to save him. I have to save myself. I break from his soft kiss unwillingly and brush my lips over his brow. "I love you," I whisper.

"I love you, too," he says, still confused. I feel a marker beginning to spawn. I have to go _now._

"Then I'll be back," I say, shoving him aside and running to the edge of the trail, jumping off a ledge and beginning to careen towards the ground.

"KEN, NO!" he screams after me, my heart lurching at the desperation in his voice in pure, agonizing guilt. This has to fix it, it _has to_!

The marker starts striking through me and I shut my eyes, ready for the pain, ready to feel bones snapping and every bit of me falling to pieces as the rush to Hell prepares to whisk me away. Instead, I'm met with soothing blackness and a lathering wave of comforting light beginning to peak its way towards me, holding me in a warm embrace. It's unfamiliar, it's new. It's a warm blanket on a cold winter's day, a spot of sunshine peaking through the grayest of clouds. It's Kyle's smile.

It's Heaven.

Oh no.


	18. Epilogue: Ashes to Ashes

"You fucked up," a startling, familiar voice appears through the void.

I whirl around, finding Damien staring at me, looking a cross between angry and concerned all at once. "Damien...where am I?" I whisper, glancing around at the white nothingness surrounding me. This isn't purgatory, it's _far_ too warm. Far too welcoming.

"You're at the gates of Heaven," he raises his brow. "God called me up to talk to you...He's deciding what to do with you."

My shoulders droop and I gulp, "What...what happened?" I flinch a bit, hearing my voice echoing around me. It feels so deadened, standing here on a blank canvas. It's nerve-racking.

"You died before you made contact with the ground," he explains. "Good effort though," he shrugs listlessly. "Had you made it, you probably would have gotten your wish."

I stare at him, my eyes glistening over with tears. "So...that's it?" I whisper. "I...I'm _done_?"

He watches me carefully, stepping up beside me and shrugging, "I don't know. God says He's working on something for you...You can only hope for the best."

I crumble, falling to my knees and feeling every bit of regret leaking out of my tear ducts. Why couldn't I have figured it out sooner? Why couldn't I have just not been such an over-zealous asshole? Why... _Why_ did I tell Kyle to wait for me? What'll happen now? If God keeps me, his life is _ruined_. If he sends me back, will he be able to deal with watching me go time after time? I heard the pure fear in his voice before I died, I heard the utter _terror_ in such a usually strong vibrato. Can he live like that? I sob out, clasping my arms around myself, barely noticing Damien kneeling down beside me, feeling his red eyes staring strongly at my broken form.

"McCormick," he says firmly. I look up at him and sniffle, wiping my eyes as he sighs in aggravation. "Dammit, McCormick, I told you this would happen."

"I know," I agree hoarsely. "I just didn't think things would...get so _good_ , ya know?"

"What did you expect?" he raises his brow.

I look up at the blank...ceiling or whatever is overtop of me and take a shuddery breath. "I thought it'd be normal."

"Normal?" he repeats.

I nod slowly, shifting uncomfortably on my legs. "I thought it'd just be...little compliments here or there and people would be like 'oh that's nice' and go about their days while I went about mine...I didn't expect to...to watch my family fall apart and then cling back together. I didn't think that my friends would be so eager to be with me...Fuck, Dam, I didn't know I was going to fall in fucking love!" I shout, reaching up and grabbing fistfuls of my hair and tugging. God's never been on my side. I'm terrified. I'm going to lose absolutely _everything_.

My mom starting to give me advice. Kevin patting me on the back proudly as he watches me helping the family. Karen giving me hugs everyday before she heads off to school. Stan laughing hysterically at me as I fail to understand what the hell he's talking about when he rants on football. Cartman bragging about his new game systems to me. Kyle... _everything_ about Kyle. _That_ is supposed to be my life. I had one. Finally I had something to live for. I had a _lot_ to live for that was always hiding just beneath the surface. If I'd just fucking picked myself up and stopped being so fucking selfish. If I'd looked in the mirror and seen more than just Death standing behind me, running his finger over his blade waiting for the right time to strike...who knows where I'd be? I could've had a normal family. I could've had a _lot_ of fond memories past just the last year. I could've had Kyle for years as opposed to just months, where both of us will be clinging onto what little time we had together trying to stave off a bitter loneliness that'll most likely drive us both to the brink. God _dammit_.

Damien awkwardly pats my shoulder, obviously way out of his comfort zone trying to be sympathetic. He pauses and looks up, raising his brow.

"What?" I whisper.

"Shut up, He wants to talk to you," he mutters, standing up and pulling me onto my feet. I follow his stare up into the void, biting my lip nervously.

" _You messed up, Kenneth,"_ a calm, soothing voice appears, echoing around us and filling the space, sending shivers down my spine. I was expecting a thunderous booming presence, but this works, too I suppose.

"I know," I answer with a cracking throat. "Please let me go back, God. _Please_."

A few moments of silence pass us by and I shudder, feeling the emptiness trying to close in around me. " _I can't,_ " He responds, my heart lurching miserably. " _At least...not yet,_ " He continues.

I blink in surprise. "Why not?"

" _Your soul is in desperate need of repair, Kenneth, and it will take time._ "

"But...I'm going back?" I say hopefully, biting my lip. I can feel Damien looking between me and up above us, uncomfortably shifting with being so close to God's presence. I can't say I blame him. I wasn't exactly wanting to meet Him, either.

" _In time_ ," He says, a lingering sigh resting on His voice. _"You failed to meet the requirements of your contract."_

Damien sighs in irritation, "And just how did he do that?"

" _He was set to gather his feathers with each good deed..._ " He pauses and we both recoil, my face dropping as a vision of Kyle appears in front of us. He's still on the mountain where I threw myself off, kneeling at the ledge and staring down blankly. He's not moving. He's not blinking. He's not doing anything but sitting there in utter shock, tears running down his immovable face. " _This last act was not one of kindness, but selfish desperation, on both your parts, Kenneth._ "

I tear my face away from looking at my boyfriend, unable to stand seeing him like that. "I know," I repeat, gulping heavily. "Please...send me back to him. I-I know I fucked up. I _know_ what the deal was but...but I want to live since I've never gotten the goddamn chance!" I scream, clasping my hands over my ears as Kyle begins murmuring my name, a quick glance showing him hugging himself and beginning to hyperventilate a bit, rocking himself back and forth.

" _He'll be back, he'll be back,_ " he repeats to himself, his eyes clenching shut and his fingers digging into his biceps enough that they're going to bruise something fierce.

"I promised him!" I shout. "Don't let him fuck up his life, too!"

" _As I said, it will take time. You will be sent back when your soul is not in complete disrepair._ "

"Disrepair?" I blink. "You mean my immortality?"

"No," Damien interjects, looking away from Kyle's frantic mumbling over to me. "When you found yourself in Heaven with no happiness in your heart, your soul went in every direction. A part is in Hell, a part is in Purgatory, and a part is here. You fucked up the system even worse somehow," he rolls his eyes.

" _Should you have patience, Kenneth, we will send you back,_ " God continues on kindly. _"However, it should be noted, you will never gain access back into Heaven. And you will continue on as you were before the bargain was struck. It will take a good deal of time to fix the mess you have created, so you must be patient._ "

"That's fine," I whisper, staring at Kyle trying to stand himself up before faltering and falling back onto his knees. Patience. That's all that the both of us can rely on at this point. He's going to suffer and so am I. We'll just have to stave through this mess together. But I'll come back to him. I swore I would and I'm not going to break on it. All we need is a little time and a little bit of memory, and we'll both make it through.

I know it.

* * *

**Day ?**

It feels different than I remember it being, though as long as it's been, I'm surprised I have any recollection at all. Streaming back into my new body, nerves reinvigorated and blood beginning to rush through my veins. It's all so simplistic, but all so fascinating. I bet Kyle could tell me every little bit of what my body is doing right now as it starts back up into the light of day.

I groan as every feeling begins catching up with me once more, feeling my all-too-familiar worn mattress under my fingertips. I sit myself up, scratching listlessly at my hair. I raise my brow. It feels shorter than before. I shakily stumble out of my bed, trying to regain my footing and head towards my mirror, staring at myself in shock. I have stubble. I look... _different_. I know it's me, but some other _version_ of me. My eyes drift to my laptop, still plugged in from my descent and wobble my way over to it. I rush it open, biting my lip anxiously as it takes its sweet time loading the fuck up. It finally makes it up and running and I automatically go to my calendar, my eyes widening.

Four years.

It's been _four years_.

My mouth gapes and I back away in shock. It couldn't have been that long. There's no conceivable way! Time in Heaven is considerably condensed, but I figured it was only a few _months_. I gulp, quickly stretching out my limbs, trying to get all my feeling back as I scramble around, trying to throw on clothes still scattered around the floor. It's as if I never left.

I bite my lip and finally manage to slip on my shoes, making a break for the hallway and swerving into the kitchen. My eyes widen at a strange man sitting at my kitchen table laughing with my mom. My gaze flickers to Karen, who's a goddamn _woman_ at this point. Oh my god. Oh my _god_.

"Hey, Ken," she waves a bit, walking over and hugging me. Just like she always did.

"H-hey, Kiddo," I wince, ruffling her hair a bit and swallowing down the pure scream of panic that I want to throw out. I've been gone so fucking long! Have they seriously not noticed?!

Mom looks at me and smiles, "Hey there, Hon," she says. "Sleep well?"

"Like a rock..." I mutter, looking at the man sitting next to her. A well dressed man with thick brown hair and a constant smile directed at my mother. Okay, I can go for that, even if I don't know this fucker's name.

"Me n' John are gonna see a movie t'night, so y'all are on yer own," she says.

John. Okay. John. Not 'your dad'...So...I guess there's _that_ benefit. I gulp and nod, looking around the kitchen nervously. There's newly bought plates resting on the counter from being washed, my heart hitching at my repaired mug standing proudly in the windowsill. "I...I gotta go," I murmur, giving them a quick wave and making a mad dash out my door.

Four years?! So much is different in just my own house! What the hell else could be out of whack? My mind beats in tempo with my rapidly running shoes, hurrying over the train tracks and towards Kyle's house. "Please be there, _please_ be there!" I plead, pushing people out of my way and ignoring their angry protests, trying to make it towards my destination in record time.

I finally make it down the street to his family's home, turning the sidewalk and rushing to the door, beating on it frantically. "Hang on!" I hear from an unfamiliar voice. I blink as the door opens to Ike, nearly at my height with a scruffy little beard of his own starting to come in. Holy fucking _shit_. "Hey, Dude," he nods. "What's up?"

"Kyle," I say frantically. "Where is he?!"

He shrugs, "Fuck if I know. He just kinda does his own thing now, you know that."

"Just help me find out where he is!" I shout, ripping at my hair.

"Jesus, calm down, Kenny," he holds up his hands in surrender. He grabs his phone out of his pocket and I watch him typing anxiously. He sighs, tapping his foot and looking up at me. "Everything okay?"

"I just need to see him, Ike," I say desperately.

He hums in acknowledgement, looking down as his phone buzzes. "He just got off work. He's in town," he says to me, glancing up with a bored expression. "Will that be all?"

Good enough for me. I reach forward and clasp him in a hug, a tad unnerved by his newfound height. "Thanks, Ike!" I say before tearing off of him and taking off down the street again. I hightail myself down towards downtown, looking around as I pass people by, peeking into shop windows and ducking in and around passer-bys. I _probably_ should've asked Ike to be a little more specific. I shake my head at myself but waste no time, dashing in and out of alleyways to cover more ground, searching for that telltale red hair of his that's always drawn me in like a beacon.

A good ten minutes pass of me having no luck and I start to get winded, my new body not quite used to the idea of exertion yet. I slow to a brisk walk, panting and still looking around for him. I wish I had my goddamn phone. Or smoke signals or _something_.

My eyes widen. Harbucks. Kyle loved going there after work, and if there's _anything_ that Kyle is, it's a creature of habit. I feel a burst of energy, running across the street and speeding down the sidewalk, my hair trying to catch wind and hit my eyes, but I shake it out of the way. I don't have time to waste on distractions right now. My heart is nearly pounding out of my chest as I round the sharp corner and find myself in front of the coffee shop. I peer in the window, catching no sign of red hair. My breath catches hopefully as I run to the side of the building, finding what we claimed to be 'our' table void as well.

Fuck.

I let out a heavy, defeated sigh. So much for that...I slowly make my way over, sitting in my regular chair and slamming my head onto the table. What am I even hurrying for? It's been four fucking years. I would've given up on me by now, too. Am I trying to rush towards the inevitable heartbreak? For all I know, Kyle's moved on and gotten fuckin' _married_ or something. There was certainly plenty of time for it. I move my arms up and hide my face in my sweater, catching the scent of _very_ stale whiskey and cringing. I guess not everything is different. This is fucking ridiculous. God spends fucking forever 'fixing' me, even though I'm still stuck in that immortal status that I loathed so much. But I wanted it, it was much _much_ better than the alternative...Or at least so I thought.

I've been gone for years and no one's even noticed. Hell, Kyle's probably reset himself, too. I wasn't allowed to see how he was doing while I was up there, God telling me it made my soul too restless for Him to work on, even though I was a blubbering mess the whole time I was there. Heaven is terrible when there's no one you give a flying shit about to share it with. I sigh, shaking my head slowly. This sucks. This sucks so goddamn _hard._

I feel something bump against my arm and look up, finding a clear cup of iced coffee being pushed against me. I glance towards my assaulter, my mouth dropping at a shy looking redhead looming over me, new glasses perched on his nose and deep, familiar green eyes standing out brightly in the sunlight. "I don't drink here anymore," he says quietly. "Got too expensive buying one for you every day...Welcome back," he smiles.

"Holy fuck," I practically sob out, rushing up and out of my seat, nearly knocking the table over as I grasp onto him, pulling him in close enough to probably start fusing him into my skin. I look down at him and open my mouth to squeal with joy before his tongue shoves in through it. I'm certainly not complaining. He drops his own drink onto the ground, clutching around the back of my neck and pulling me in as deep as he can manage. I can't believe this. I can't fucking _believe_ this!

He finally pulls back, out of air and laughs softly, playing with my hair. "I don't like it short," he decides. "Not as much, anyway." He stops for a moment and nods, "Though the stubble I approve of. You don't have a baby face anymore," he teases, running his fingers along my chin.

I can't help but burst out laughing, practically in tears. "I'm gone for this long and you talk about my fucking hair?"

He smirks a bit, "Well it's either that or I get really fucking cheesy and I try to save that for you."

I grab around his waist and kiss him again, listening to him moaning softly, sounding like a choir singing in my ears. "I have every reason to be cheesy," I whisper against him. "You remembered. No one did but _you_."

He looks at me curiously before shrugging, "I told you I believed you, didn't I?" He pauses, biting his lip a bit. "So...what happened?"

"I'm back to normal," I say quietly, playing with his hair which hasn't changed a damn bit. Thank God for that. I need _something_ familiar in this futuristic bullshittery, and lucky for me it's attached to my favorite thing. "I'll keep dying...but God says He's cut down the frequency with my soul's tune-up," I roll my eyes, though I can't deny that I _am_ grateful for some form of reprieve.

He sighs, leaning his head against my chest and shaking his head. "Will it be for this long again?"

"No," I say, kissing his head softly. "I'm never leaving you for that long again. I promise."

I can feel him smiling against me. "Good, I'm too fucking impatient for that." I can't help but snort in laughter. He's a terrible liar. He pulls back again, breaking into a devious grin. "Come on," he jerks his head, grabbing my hand and starting to haul me away from the table onto the sidewalk. I interlace our fingers and cock my head.

"Where're we goin'?"

He smirks, not looking at me, "Our apartment, of course."

I blink at him and break into my own grin. "You don't think it's a little too soon for that?"

"Fuck you, we've been together for nearly five years," he scoffs playfully. "Longest distance relationship in the world, but we made it work despite the complete lack of convenience." He looks at me with a small, loving smile and my heart begins flittering madly. I tug him in closer and wrap my arm around his shoulders, holding him closely as we continue our way through town.

It isn't perfect. Life and death are still playthings in my existence. God still has me on His marionette strings and He's not looking to cut the cords anytime soon. But He's given me what others can never get: A second chance. He's set me free to live life as I'm supposed to: to be happy without only being guided by the prospect of earning my wings and spending eternity in everlasting salvation. I look up towards the sky, smiling a bit as I feel Kyle's warmth under me, the feather wiped off my chest, and the dust of the day flowing freely in the air and out of my way. Whatever I have to deal with from here on out, it's worth it. Every cut, every bruise, every mutilation is completely worth it.

I look to see Kyle staring at me, his green eyes glittering in the afternoon sun. I lean down and kiss his temple, sniggering as he mutters how gay I am and giving me that blush I missed so much as he kisses me back. I messed up my chances to get through the pearly gates. Heaven will _forever_ be out of my reach and my mortality will continue to swing me back and forth until one day, I finally _do_ find the end of the tunnel. But I can deal with that while being here, knowing my family is finally beginning to thrive and Kyle and I can continue on side by side; Myself being there for him when I can and him waiting patiently for me. It's as close as I could ever get to 'eternal' bliss.

And I am _perfectly_ content with that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone got diabetes from that ending? Well it's K2 diabetes so at least it was worth it. Thank you so much for your continued support of this story! Hope you enjoyed it all the way through as I enjoyed writing it! Thanks for reading and commenting and hope to see you on another tale!


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